A Broken Man
by blue peanut m and m
Summary: How do you break a man, when pain is an everyday occurance and can be controlled? Eliot and the team are about to find out when an easy con, turns out to be anything but.
1. Chapter 1

**Broken.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . It started off as such any easy con, they should have realized there is no such thing.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine just testing the waters of someone else's creation.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . What can I say I'm a sucker for a great character, and Eliot Spencer is a great character! So I'm dipping my toes into the fandom world of Leverage, please be gentle! Warning this will be an Eliot whump with a difference and at times could get a little dark for some readers. **

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It started off as such an easy con, they should have realized there was no such thing. The Petersons, had owned a winery, and lost everything investing in a company who promised to promote and sell their product to the more lucrative European market; only the company took the money and vanished. So Hardison had infiltrated through wires and hard drives, and found the companies new home base, procuring the information needed to allow Sophie a way in as the middle man for a new face who wanted a bigger part, a more international part, of the wine industry.

Grifting better than she ever had before, she quickly gained their trust, and closed on a deal before the first meeting was even over. They should have realized then something was wrong, but too many cons in too short a space of time had made them sloppy, and too many of those cons getting the end result they were looking for had made them over confident. Only Eliot feeling that things hadn't been quite right, too easy, but quenching those thoughts down as his role in their play was about to begin.

They'd found out where the company was holding the cold hard cash they had insisted on being paid with, and had intended to take it all back. With Sophie supposed to keep the main player busy, and Hardison needed outside to keep a watch over everything, it was a reluctant Hitter who agreed to allow the Mastermind to tag along. Nate, Eliot and Parker using the black of night as cover as they made quick work of the locks and gained entrance to the warehouse with ease, Eliot's worry meter increasing up yet another notch at just how easily.

And then the crap really hit the fan. Eliot, sensitive as always to everything going on around him, picked up the faint sounds of soles against concrete and steel blades against leather, as at the same time Sophie's voice crisply warned them that the main player had failed to show up. Voices sang out then and the cultured Italian tones, they had all been used to hearing over their ear buds, were replaced by the rough, guttural slang of another country altogether, creating an instant response in Eliot's posture, a stiffening of his back, a clenching of his fists, a tightness around his eyes. He turned ready to shout a warning to the others, but it was too late. The attack came too quick.

He'd tried, pushing Nate and Parker behind him but there was just too many and he knew sooner or later someone would break through his defenses. He'd just landed a sickening blow to his opponents head with his own when he heard it, Parker's grunt of pain, and the sound of her body falling to the floor. A fury ignited within him, a fury he could usually contain, a fury had not felt in a very long time, a combination of his Southern roots, and his fierce protectiveness of the crazy lady that had eased her way into his heart, coalescing into a white hot rage.

"Get her outta here Nate!" He growled at the mastermind. "Now, Nate!" He added when it looked as though his order looked as though it was going to be ignored. His whispered request of, "Please" finally breaking through Nate's shock. Seeing his order being done, he focused all his energy back to the battle ahead.

Nate though hadn't complied completely; oh he had gotten Parker safely out of the way, but had quickly found that any way out of the building was blocked. So he had stowed them both behind some stacked up crates, and placing Parker's bleeding head in his lap waited for Eliot to finish doing what he did best, knowing deep down that there was no way to help the younger man, yet feeling like a coward for doing nothing.

He forced himself to stay quiet as the sounds of the struggle intensified, even when he was sure one of the grunts of pain had been Eliot's, forced himself to ignore the cries of Hardison and Sophie in his ears, unwilling to create more trouble for the Hitter by giving their position away. Instead he stayed quiet, gently rubbing his thumb against Parker's lax hand, and sending a prayer up to whoever was listening that they all got out of this alive.

His breathe caught, and he felt as though his heart had stopped, as following one last grunt of pain, the shuffling of feet, and the banging of one of the side doors, silence finally descended. He waited impatiently for the Hitter to acknowledge that all was clear, but nothing ever came and finally he could hold back no longer. "Hardison, see if you can get me some lights." He asked through his com, gently removing Parker's head from his lap as he did so, the blond thief not even stirring. "Sophie, bring the van around, Parker's hurt." He added, as he crept from their hiding place, his worry for their Retrievalist increasing by the second. He'd just made it to the aisle he had last seen Eliot when the lights finally came on; revealing the death and destruction, the battle had left there. He scanned the area quickly, looking for the distinctive white bands encircling black leather, but they were nowhere to be seen.

"Guy's we have a problem." He stated to the other's, a chill burning deep inside him, as at the same time Hardison uttered the exact same words.

A non-descript black van slowly made its way through the darkened Boston streets, its back windows tinted allowing no one a view of what was going on inside. A hand reached out across the small space towards an unmoving bundle trussed up tightly before it. Its fingers smoothing back flowing locks that had covered a beaten and bloody face, as a voice spoke. "Sada je moje vrijeme. Osveta ce biti poduzete, a vas ce pasti i biti slomljeno prije mene."

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . Okay, so I got the translation from stars21 and can only hope it's right, although I think the ce should have an acute diacritical mark above them, which word has not allowed. As for what it says, well you'll find out next chapter when I reveal who has our beloved Hitter. Thank you so much for taking time out to read this, will be back soon with more, Peanut x**


	2. Chapter 2

**Broken.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . It started off as such any easy con, they should have realized there is no such thing.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine just testing the waters of someone else's creation.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . . Thanks to everyone who took time out to read chapter 1, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I really didn't want to keep you waiting, so without further ado, here's chapter 2. Warning, there is a suggestion of past abuse both physical and sexual, but it's brief and not the way I plan on taking the story as you will come to find out. Thanks again, Peanut x**

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He can't stand the waiting, especially not in a place like this, but he knows they have no choice, that with their Hitter/ Retrievalist/ Medic now gone they had no other option but to make up false identities and bring their still unconscious Thief here; so they had, they'd resigned Eliot to his fate for now, and high tailed it to the nearest hospital. He knows though he has done the right thing, knows that it would have been what Eliot wanted, that the Hitter would have cursed a blue streak, and probably would have started to throw punches, if he found out they had put Parker's life in danger to go looking for him; but it still didn't sit right with Nate. He takes his eyes off the door they wheeled Parker through and looks around at the rest of the team, witnessing his own worries and concerns echoed upon their own features, and for the first time in a long time he's unsure of what to do.

It's Hardison who breaks the silence that's lying thickly around them, forcing Nate to push down the maddening urge to run, to find the nearest bar and drink himself into oblivion, instead he forces his eyes onto the Hacker. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked what we're gonna do man? How do we get Eliot back?"

"I don't know yet." He forces himself to take deep breaths to quench fears inside him, forces himself to focus, before adding. "But I'll figure something out." His words seem to ease some of his doubts, their features losing some of the tightness, and he can see the determination begin to creep back.

"Hardison?" Sophie asks, speaking for the first time since they arrived here. "What did you mean, when you said we had a problem at the warehouse? We know what Nate meant, but what did you mean?"

Relieved to have something to do other than wait silently, Hardison began to tell them what he had found. "I created a voice recognition pattern, the minute the tones changed, and ran it. Now it couldn't get me a perfect match, I still have some kinks to work through ya know, what with it being spur of the moment and such, but it did give me a rough area of where our bad guys come from."

"And?" Nate asked, blown away at the knowledge the younger man had.

"It's not good, s'not good at all. The program came back with two options Serbian, or Croatian, and as far as I'm aware Eliot aint pissed off any Serb's that I know of."

"So Croatian's. Well that's a start." Nate replied, his mind now completely focused upon the retrieval of their Hitter. "Hardison, look into Eliot's back ground." Seeing fear once more creep upon the younger man's face, he added. "I don't mean his personal stuff, just work related, see if any names crop up, and see if you can find out just what it was Eliot did there. Also check to see if any private flights are leaving for Croatia, they can't risk a comercial if they want to move him from the country. Once you have some names, check to see if any of them have any private flights booked." He turned to the Grifter sat next to him. "Sophie, I need you to go over all we gathered on the winery con, look into the players and their backgrounds, then cross match them with what Hardison finds. We may be lucky guys, and at this moment in time we could do with a little bit of luck."

"What are you going to do?" Sophie asked, a tinge of worry reflected in her tone, she'd seen the longing to run in his eyes and knew where that run would end up.

"I'll wait here for news on Parker, she wouldn't want us all waiting here, not when Eliot's missing anyway. I'll call when we're on our way back, you know Parker she won't want to stay here. Get to work guys; he's been gone too long already."

* * *

It was the bitter cold, biting harshly through his skin and sending its chill deep into his core, which finally stirred him; breaking through the cloying fog that seemed to cloud his senses. He tried to move his hand, tried to brush away and staunch the slow trickle, of what he could only guess was blood, which was easing its way down his cheek, unable to comprehend at first why the limb was unwilling to obey his brain's command.

He tried to take in a deep breath, hoping that by doing so the oxygen would break through the cotton wool, but all that his action induced was a taking in of dry and dusty hot air that triggered off a coughing spell and ignited a world of hurt within him. He tried to calm his ragged breathing, as the spell finally slowed, his mind now at least more alert.

He used techniques he'd picked up in South Asia, to still his whirling thoughts, and concentrated instead upon taking stock of his injuries, surprised when his assessment came back with relatively minor ailments, bruised ribs, minor concussion, cuts and bruises. Feeling better, he attempted again to move his arm, struggling all the more when he realized his wrists were bound tightly, his mind startling alert, allowing his brain to pick up even more irregularities.

He's lying on his stomach across what he thinks is a long wooden table, his wrists tied to one end, his ankles the other. He notices for the first time the total lack of light, a stuffiness filling the air, and a roughness pressing against his face, there's a sack of some sort placed over his head. He calm's himself down against the anxiety that has begun to rise once more, forcing himself to try and gain more knowledge of where his is, and who has taken him, blocking out all white noise and concentrating instead on listening to what's going on around him, that anxiety increasing tenfold when all he could hear was the beat of his own heart, his hearing of the outside world blocked. The anxiety turns into fear when the final piece of his nightmare finally fall's into place and the reason for the chill invading his body was realized. He was naked.

A fear he had long since buried deep arose within him, causing his breathing to increase, sweat to break out on his bare skin, and shaking to rattle his bones. He pulled desperately at his cuffs, ignoring the burning and tearing of his skin, the grind of bone against metal, and the agonizing pull of constricting muscle, but the bonds were too strong and all his efforts gained him was more trauma and suffering, and his apprehension to rise. He doesn't stop though, he keeps on pulling until crimson trails are trickling down his hands, and seeping into the patina of the table beneath him. Doesn't stop until he's gasping for air, and completely exhausted, and yet even then he cannot help the involuntary tugs he keeps giving.

He ignores it at first, thinking it's his own sweat trickling down his body, but when the touch moves his moistened locks from his face, he can't help the startled growl, or the jump of fear that escapes him. Someone is here, someone is in the room with him, and blind, deaf, and cuffed as he is, he's completely defenseless. He uses the only weapon he has left, his voice. Threats falling easily from his lips, curses in every language he knows, but it's no use and when the hand touches again, his back this time, he can't help the shudders that wrack through him.

He waits for the inevitable, for the pain he remembers but has tried to block, but it doesn't come, instead he's subjected to a new form of torture; a torture that begins to break his mind.

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**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . . So the translation for chapter 1 was Croatian and if you were wondering, this is what it said, or should I say what I hope it said. "Now is my time. Revenge will be taken, and you will fall and be broken before me." Thanks for taking time out to read chapter 2, I hope that you liked it. Will be back soon with more, Peanut x**


	3. Chapter 3

**A Broken Man.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . How do you break a man, when pain is an everyday occurrence and can be controlled? Eliot and the team are about to find out, when an easy con turns out to be anything but.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine, no money is being made; I'm just testing the waters of a new fandom.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . Thanks to everyone who has read this fic so far, and to those who have reviewed. Still on my Christmas break, so still have time to write, which means another chapter for you all. Peanut x**

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It had been three days. Three days since they had lost their Hitter. Three days since Eliot had been taken. Three days and they had nothing, nilch, nada. No flight plans, no names, no sightings, nothing; and the temptation for Nate to go and lose himself at the bottom of any bottle he could lay his hands on, was growing stronger by the second. He felt useless, incompetent, not needed. Sure he was the Mastermind, the genius who came up with the plans, but plans were only useful if you knew what it was you were aiming for, or up against.

So had been forced to take a back seat, as Hardison hacked databases, and Parker picked her way into warehouses, and Sophie used up all her good favors; forced to sit there as one by one, they all came back with nothing. He ignores their reproachful looks as he stands and makes his way over to the bar, ignores the glances between them as he picks up the liquor, unscrews the lid, and drinks straight from the bottle, relishing the burn as the liquid eases down his throat and starts to sooth away the fears, and melt away the doubts. They could work this out. They had to work this out. Replacing the lid, he places the bottle back down, one was all he needed for now, the rest would be taken once they had got their Hitter back, he could only hope that when they did so, he would be alive and in one piece.

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Time has no meaning anymore, night and day surely still passed by as it had for centuries past, but he was a man living in perpetual darkness. He tried at first to figure out how long he had been here, but the fact he had arrived unconscious, and the hood that still shrouded his head, and the fact he had blacked out numerous times since waking up in this hell, made his attempts meaningless. He was exhausted, and hungry, and thirsty, and hurting, and anxious; oh so very anxious. It was the waiting. The waiting that unnerved him. The waiting for the beatings to start as they always had in the past. The waiting for the pain that could be controlled and dealt with. The waiting, waiting, waiting; but the beatings never came, and that scared him more than anything else.

At least he's no longer tied to that god damn table anymore; at least he can curl up into the smallest ball he can possibly make and feel the slightest bit safer, and maybe then they would forget he was even here, whoever they were; at least he's free to move around a little bit, well if he could muster the energy to do so, or at least stop the uncontrollable shaking in his limbs to attempt to stand, or move without igniting agony throughout his shoulders. His addled, drug hazed mind tries to remember how he hurt them, tries to remember why he can't seem to coordinate himself, but when it does show him snippets of the past, what has it been, hours/ days/ weeks? He's powerless to stop the flow once it's started, and it all comes rushing back.

He awoke the first time after the table to find himself hanging by his wrists from the ceiling, his toes barely able to scrape across the frozen concrete floor. He'd wondered how they had managed to move him without his knowledge, but the new type of fuzziness invading his brain kinda gave that game away. The damn bag was still covering his head, and his hearing was still shot, and his clothes were still gone, and it was cold, so very cold; much colder than the first room he had been in. So cold, it took his mind a few minutes to realize that that wasn't the worst of his problems. No that was the fact that as well as being chained to the ceiling, he was also chained to the floor; his legs splayed wide apart, his body open and vulnerable to an attack much worse than any beating he had ever received.

He'd started panicking again then, not even needing the touch of his unknown assailant this time, those blocked off memories from years past assaulting his mind once again. Started straining at the chains encircling his wrists, opening up once more the mutilated rents he had already caused there, the tender scabs breaking easily under his onslaught, allowing the claret rivers to once again flow. The pain was ignored, and the struggles grew in strength, and the first pop missed above the screaming and thudding heartbeats echoing in his head. When the second pop occurred though the pain that radiated was all encompassing, stealing his breath away, and sending him crashing into a darkness he'd welcomed.

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He'd awoken the second time not to pain, but to a sense of more freedom. His hopes rising, thinking for a moment that he had been found, only to crash back harshly down as he'd tried to move his hand and felt once more the tight band of metal encircling his wrist. He'd taken a few moments to fight against the apprehension that threatened to overwhelm him once more, his mind coming more alert once he had managed to chase the fears back down.

He realized the hood was gone, and couldn't believe the sense of relief that knowledge gave him. He still couldn't see, a blindfold now replacing the rough burlap. He still couldn't hear, and although he was beginning to get used to that, he still couldn't believe how vulnerable the loss of that sense made him feel. His shoulders had been reset, but the dull throbbing agony was still present. He was sat on a chair, a table placed in front of him, his ankles bound to the chair legs, his arms stretched apart, his wrists to each end of the table. The loss of two of his senses had forced the other three to overcompensate, and his sense of smell easily picked up the aroma of food.

His hands stretched as much as they could, and the fingers of his left hand brushed against a metal plate, and with a bit of maneuvering the watery broth it contained. A battle raged inside him, he knew he had to eat, knew he had to try and keep up his strength, but could he risk it? What if it was drugged? The overwhelming hunger and thirst won out though, and he pushed and guided the plate until it was in a position he could reach with his mouth; and then, like a dog would lap up water, he bent forward and ate, the weak soup tasting like the best of steaks to his empty stomach.

The reaction was almost instantaneous, the poisons he had feared were there reacting almost as soon as the broth hit his stomach, causing him to try to double over in agony, and sweat to break out on his body, where it cooled instantly setting off chills that wracked his frame. He desperately wanted to bring his arms around himself, desperately needed that grain of comfort, but the chains forbid it. Tears streaked down his stubbled cheeks, and he gasped in air trying to stave off the onslaught, but it was no use. His bowels constricted painfully, and his stomach lurched violently until he could no longer handle the pain and released. He'd sat afterwards drifting in a world of hurt, surrounded by his own waste, and begging for the darkness to return.

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**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . That's all for now folks! I hope that you enjoyed? Back at work tomorrow, so the next update maybe a few days away, no promises but I'll try for the weekend. Peanut x**


	4. Chapter 4

**A Broken Man.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . How do you break a man, when pain is an everyday occurrence and can be controlled? Eliot and the team are about to find out, when an easy con turns out to be anything but.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine, no money is being made; I'm just testing the waters of a new fandom.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . Thanks to everyone who has read this fic so far, and to those who have reviewed. Have a few days of for New Year now so hopefully I can get a few chapters out before I have to return to work. For now here's chapter 4, I hope that you enjoy. Peanut x**

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Legs bent and arms curled protectively, as best they could against the chains that were still shackled to his wrists, around a torso that was wracked with spasmodic trembles, a head that was thick and heavy, sagged, the strong muscles that usually held it so high, wasted away and weary. He ignored the stench, the rancid smell of waste and sickness and sweat. He just wanted to sleep, but every time he reached the cusp of dormancy, They stopped him, dragging him back to his living hell.

Eyelids slowly drooped closed once more. It felt like slivers of glass were ripping through the fragile membrane, but the gritty pain that little action caused was ignored, as the need to sleep grew stronger. All conscious thought slowed, his body becoming pliant and lose, his features losing the lines of fear and edginess, that kept him in a state of constant jumpiness, awaiting the beating he was still so sure would eventually arise. He started to drift. He knew it wouldn't be long, knew that they would soon come, but he couldn't help the images that invaded his brain of a happier him, of cons worked with the team, he started to lose himself; but the happiness those few memories brought weren't to last, and as a different punishment attacked, as the water hit him, the bubble he had lost himself in burst.

It was cold, so very cold, like ice against his fever heated skin; and the force it smashed against him with, knocked him back against the harsh stone of the wall, straining his bonds to breaking point, and stealing all air from his lungs. He couldn't help the scream that ripped from his throat as fragile bones snapped, and gasped against the onslaught on pain, his mouth floundering like a fish out of water, desperate for a breath, but dragging in nothing but icy liquid that burnt his already taxed lungs. He coughed and spluttered and floundered, tried to turn his body so that the powerful jets would crash against his back and relieve the pressure from his front, but weak and exhausted and in pain, he couldn't move an inch, couldn't stop the onslaught from slowly drowning him.

His lungs screamed, his throat instinctively closing against the invasion it didn't want to allow in, his body burning in agony as it tried to cope without the life giving air it desperately needed. His arms fall, his legs unfurl, his eyes roll back, and his struggles lesson as the effort to stay alive become too much. He stills.

The water stops then, but he doesn't move. Someone kicks at his side, but he doesn't register it, or the voice that curses at subordinates, or the hands that pummel at his chest; but he does feel the calm that shrouds him, begging him to let go and surrender to it, and he does feel the fiery agony as he is ripped away from it, and the blistering burning as the water he has swallowed is expelled. He's left alone once they know he's back with them; left alone trembling in pain and grief, mumbled begging escaping from his lips, until the exhaustion he has been battling finally becomes too much, and he's finally allowed to drift into the sleep that has been, for far too long, kept from him.

* * *

It's the noise that reawakens him, after hours, days even, without hearing anything but his own heartbeat and screams, it hurts. The sack is back, tied tightly around his neck, but he can barely summon the energy to attempt to move it. His hands were at last free of the chains, rough braided rope now bit into the bruised and torn flesh and the broken bones beneath, a feeling he was somewhat used to, a predicament he had been subjected to before and easily escaped from, but he didn't try pulling at them, instead he sluggishly tries to drag the bound and listless limbs above his head in a desperate attempt to drown out the cacophony.

He bites down a scream of pain as they move a little before they bang harshly against something above his head. He feels around, once the pain has abated, hoping and praying that he's not in what he thinks he's in, trying to calm his mounting anxiety and rapid breathing, when his search tells him he is. He ignores all his pain, all his suffering, and struggles, he can't help it, those feelings he'd fought hard against, those fears he'd fought hard to overcome, they all come crashing back down upon him, and claustrophobia grips him. He can feel the air start to dwindle, feel it become thick, and stifling, and stale. His mind begins to play tricks and he swears the coffin is getting smaller, the space slowly closing in on him. He's going to die here, slow and painful, gasping and suffering and alone. His struggles increase, he doesn't want to die like this, doesn't want to die this way.

He pushes at the lid with his damaged wrists. He bends his legs, as best he can, and uses them too; his elation rising as the wood slowly starts to give, only to fall as loose shifting sand, and small stones, seep their way through the crack and start to fill the box. His grip lessons but the damage has already been done, stones now preventing the lid from closing completely, and the sand continues to fall. He pushes at it, tries to get as far away from it as possible, but he knows that there's nowhere really to go, knows that sooner or later it will smother him, and he can't help but react. Panic overwhelms him, it overtakes his already troubled mind and clenches around his already struggling chest. He flails about, kicking and punching, using his legs and arms and head. His breathing becomes strained, each breath laboriously taken in, but his mind tells his brain that it's not enough, that the air is not there, and his brain believes it sending out signals for him to consume more and more, until his gasping and wheezing and choking, until stars seem to explode before his eyes, before the world once again turns dark.

* * *

They've tried. Used up every marker they have ever been owed; offered up rewards for information; turned over every snitch; conned their way into every diplomatic party hoping to glean just that little tidbit of knowledge; hell they'd even gone begging to Sterling. Nothing they had done though had turned up anything. Eliot had just disappeared.

The office door stands open slightly revealing inside a room almost devoid of personal possessions, and the back of a woman as she sits upon the window ledge, legs dangling out of the open window. The pot rests securely upon her thighs, her fingers brushing lightly against the foliage, the repetitive action bringing her much needed comfort; comfort she cannot gain from the other humans, not knowing how to ask for it. So she sits, and she strokes, and she tells the plant how she needs her Hitter back.

There's wires and circuits and breakers and boards strewn everywhere, numerous laptops are open and running searches, empty orange soda bottles and congealing microwavable meals litter all other surfaces. He's dealing the only way he can, by trying to make sure this doesn't happen again, by trying to create a tracking device that can't be found, or fried, and that can be tracked over greater distances; by trying to figure out who has his friend, and where they have him, and why. But so far nothing has worked to his standards, and so far his searches have turned up nothing. So he keeps trying, because anything is better than thinking about Eliot.

She copes the only way she knows best. Bags advertising numerous different brands clutter the usually neat and tidy room. Shoes and bags and clothes and jewelry tumble out of them. Each item having been tried on again and again, discarded and then retrieved. Each item helping to create a new persona, a character she can lose herself in for hours at a time, because if she stays as plain old Sophie it means she has to think about him, and she doesn't want to, doesn't want to think about what has been done to him, doesn't want to think about what is being done to him, doesn't want to think that after all this time he could be. . . . . . . . So she does what she does best. She acts.

That one drink hadn't been enough. As the days passed, and then the weeks, that one drink had turned into two, and then three, and then he stopped counting. Empty bottles are dropped where they are finished, new ones opened almost immediately, until his days pass in a blur of searching and drinking. He tips the bottle he's holding to his lips, disgruntled when only a few drops tantalize his tongue, it's time for a new one, but he knows he's out, knows he'll have to venture downstairs. He staggers and stumbles and somehow makes it down the stairs without falling, and trudges his way to the store room. He stops his fingers on the handle as his phone vibrates within his pocket. He answers, and listens, and sobers immediately.

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**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . I hope it was worth the wait? Will be back soon with another chapter, catch you later, Peanut x**


	5. Chapter 5

**A Broken Man.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . How do you break a man, when pain is an everyday occurrence and can be controlled? Eliot and the team are about to find out, when an easy con turns out to be anything but.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine, no money is being made; I'm just testing the waters of a new fandom.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . Thanks to everyone who has read this fic so far, and to those who have reviewed, added to favorites, or even alerted. I really couldn't have asked for a better response. Without further ado, here's chapter 5. I hope you enjoy. Peanut x**

* * *

He couldn't get back up the stairs quick enough. Ignoring the pain that resonated throughout his skull with every step he took, he plowed on. This was it. This was the breakthrough they had been waiting for. It had to be him. It had to be Eliot. He pushed through the front door of the office, not caring that it slammed so hard against the dry wall its handle broke through, and ran straight for Hardison's room, the younger man looking up quizzically at the Mastermind stood there, panting and desperately trying to get his words out.

"Nate, man, I'm busy, and I aint no errand boy, so go get ya own drink."

"No! I don't want you to get me a drink." Nate finally managed to choke out. "Trace my phone. Trace my phone." At Hardison's still incredulous look he added. "Someone just called it. They left it open for a few seconds then hung up."

"Man, that's not even worth my time, it's probably just some prank calling crap."

"I don't think it was Hardison. I think it was Eliot, or at least the people who have him. Please, I just have a feelingthat I'm right. I just have a feeling that we need to hurry, please just trace the last call. If I'm wrong, what do we have to lose?"

Hardison looked into Nate's eyes and saw not the unfocused stare of a drunken man, but a belief there, and a need there, a need for this to be true. "Okay. Okay, hand it over. I'll see what I can do."

Parker and Sophie had ventured out at the sound of the door crashing open, and now stood watching the Hacker and the Mastermind. "What's going on?" Sophie asked.

"Nate gotta call, got some weird illusion goin' that it mighta been Eliot. I'm just tracing it back now. The number's been blocked, but that aint ever stopped me before, just a couple more seconds before I can tell him "I told ya so", and voila. . . . . . . ." His words trailed off, the gloat he had been about to express caught in his throat, as the information popped up upon the screen before him.

"And?" Nate asked when no further words seemed to be coming forth.

"It's his phone man. It's his phone."

"Where is it now?" Parker inquired. "Do you think it was him do you think he's okay can we go get him?" Her words rambled together in her rush to get them out, her body already turning to leave.

"Parker, Parker, slow down." Nate answered, as Sophie grasped the girl's shoulders to prevent her from rushing off.

"But Nate, it's Eliot, and he's been gone a long time, and he might be hurt, and. . . . . . . . ."

"Parker, I know all that, but it won't do Eliot any good if we rush in there unprepared and end up being captured ourselves. Hardison see if you can pull up any cameras in the area, Parker get your harnesses together we may need them." He watched as the thief slunk off, knowing they probably wouldn't need her equipment, but needing to give her something to do. "Sophie grab Eliot some clothes from his office in case he needs them. Why you're doing that, I'll make sure the first aid kit is fully stocked. Be ready to go in 10."

* * *

Stones and broken glass tore and ripped at the tender flesh that covered the soles of his bare feet, but he felt nothing, the fear was too strong. They were coming for him, he could hear them behind him, coming to finally give him the beating he had been waiting for, coming to finally put an end to this nightmare, and he had to run, he had to hide, but where? Where? There! There, he could go over there. There he could hide. The world undulated and swirled around him, and the shadows moved and threatened as he stumbled past them, the darkness not holding the safety he needed, but the danger he was running from. He began to doubt his hiding place, began to fear it, as it was bathed in those shadows that haunted his mind, but he had no choice, he had to hide.

He splashed his way through streams of rain water and waste, little fearing the diseases and infections they held, he just had to get away, he just had to hide. He pushed aside rotting bags of garbage, and soaked and soggy boxes, and climbed behind them once the gap was big enough, ignoring the waste and pulling the fetid items over himself once he had settled from sight, not even gagging from the putrid smells. He couldn't afford to make a sound, tried his hardest to still his ragged breathing, clamped his mouth shut in an attempt to still his chattering teeth, placed hands covered in grease and slime over his ears to drown out the sounds, because his broken mind insisted, if he couldn't hear them they couldn't hear him right?

He drew up his legs, and dropped his head against his knees, drawing himself into the smallest ball, trying to avoid all detection, but he must have made some sort of sound, must have moved at just the wrong moment, because the boxes were hastily thrown aside, his hiding place discovered and destroyed, and hands were touching him, grabbing him, pulling him. A small part of his mind awakened, it told him to fight, to not allow this to happen, to live. Years of training, of surviving; listened and forced the rest of him to battle. He tried, he really tried, he punched and kicked and bit, using every dirty trick he could think of, but more and more hands clamped down, and what little strength, what little adrenaline he had, began to wane. His body gave up, went limp in his attackers hands, and his mind shut down once more, sending him to the place it always sent him to keep him safe when the beatings became too much. As the world around him faded, he missed the worried gasps, and cries of anguish from voices he knew as well as his own.

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . Well to say I'm worried about this one is an understatement, I'm petrified here, worrying that I haven't got the characters just right, so if I haven't please forgive me as this is my first Leverage fic. Also sorry about the length, I know it's shorter than normal, but I didn't want to make you wait any longer, and I have to work this weekend. Hopefully the chapters will be longer again from now on. Will be back soon with more, Peanut x**


	6. Chapter 6

**A Broken Man.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . How do you break a man, when pain is an everyday occurrence and can be controlled? Eliot and the team are about to find out, when an easy con turns out to be anything but.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine, no money is being made; I'm just testing the waters of a new fandom.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . So, I seem to have confused a lot of you in the previous chapter, for that I'm sorry, hopefully though some things will be answered right now. Thanks to everyone who has read this fic so far, and to those who have reviewed, added to favorites, or even alerted. I really couldn't have asked for a better response. Without further ado, here's chapter 6. I hope you enjoy. Peanut x**

* * *

They'd proceeded slowly. Even though Hardison's scans of the area had showed nothing unusual, years of thieving had instilled within them an eagerness to always be over cautious. So they moved in slowly, exited the van at different points along the route until only Hardison remained, and each, on Nate's word moved into the alley from different directions; himself from the North, Sophie from the South, and Parker looking over them both from the rooftops.

It was cold and dirty work, every dark and dank corner was investigated, every dumpster examined; even walking was perilous as they attempted to avoid the dubious streams of water that trickled from all points, Sophie at one point cursing herself for being selfish and worrying about her five hundred dollar boots when Eliot was out here somewhere hurting and alone, maybe even. . . . . . . . . . . . . No she refused to even go there. He was alive. He was alive and they would find him.

The gap between the two thieves on the ground was slowly getting smaller and smaller, when the brunette grifter heard a slight movement to her left. Her heart leapt into her throat, was this it? Had they finally found what they had come looking for? She motioned to Nate, beckoning him over as she crept closer to where she thought the sound had come from, the smallest of whimpers, the briefest rustle of trash, the harsh breathing of an ill man, breathing that she could tell someone was trying so hard to drown out. When Nate touched her shoulder to reassure her he was there, she jumped slightly but continued on in her quest, pushing aside rotting boxes and bags of decaying garbage, not caring that her perfectly manicured fingers were now covered putrid smelling mush, or that her designer clothes were now ruined; her focus completely set upon the person she hoped was behind this one last box. With Nate's help she moved it, crying out and stumbling back at the sight that befell her.

That couldn't be him. It just couldn't be him. But deep down she knew it was, that this cowering, practically naked, filthy mess of a man that was recoiling and trying to shrink before her eyes, was the confident and aggressive Hitter she had come to know. She could tell even though the normally silky hair was now matted and knotted and smeared with substances she didn't even want to know. She could tell even though the normally bright and icy and constantly aware beautiful blue eyes, were now dull and ringed with dark circles, wide eyed but seeing nothing, frightened and scared. What the hell had been done to him?

Nate watched as Sophie stumbled, his own mind at seeing Eliot wanting to do the same, but knowing now was not the time, that they were out in the open here, unsafe. He moved slowly forward not wanting to frighten the younger man any more than he already was, he softly called the Hitter's name, not really expecting a response but wanting the man he had come to think of as a friend to know he was there. All his effort gathered him though was for the frightened man to shrink back even further. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Sophie inching closer, her initial emotional display now hidden behind her mask, her motherly nature now in full force.

"Nate, we have to get him out of there."

"I know that, but he's scared and jittery." He turned away for a moment, his hand touching his ear even though there was no need to, he just needed to still their trembling. "Parker, how are we looking?"

"Everything seems clear and quiet from up here. How's Eliot? Is he okay? Can I come down and see him?" Parker responded, he own anxiety for her friend evident in her voice.

"No!" Nate replied, not wanting the young woman to see Eliot like this. "Keep your eyes open up there; let us know the minute you spot any sign of trouble. Hardison, bring the van round, Eliot's won't be able to make it to you." He turned back to Sophie once he had stopped talking to the other two members of the team. "Sophie, stay back for a minute, this is Eliot, and he's confused and frightened, but he's still dangerous. Let me try again to calm him down."

He moved forward once more, grasping Eliot by his arm, shocked at how chilled the flesh felt beneath his fingers, but staying far enough away to avoid being hit, grateful that he did so when both the younger man's arms started swinging. Nate couldn't believe the strength of the blows that rained down, but he held on just the same, asking Sophie for help when Eliot's strength finally began to fade, both of them speaking reassuring words that they hoped their friend would hear, but knowing that he didn't when his eyes rolled back and his resistance stopped.

"We need to get him out of here now!" Nate shouted, thankful that Hardison chose that moment to turn up.

* * *

In the end they decided to take the Hitter to Sophie's place, no one really knowing where it was Eliot lived, Parker's place too sparse, Nate and Hardison's places having too many stairs to maneuver up. Hardison and Nate gently placed their unconscious friend onto the Grifter's king sized bed, the older man rummaging into the medical bag Parker had dropped by his side, taking out a sterile swab and cleaning a small area before drawing some blood. Once finished he turned to the older of the two women.

"Hey Sophie, could you run a bath, and then why don't you go and wait outside. Parker I need you to get this analyzed, until we know if there's anything in his system, we can't give him anything." When he saw the two women about to protest he added. "Eliot will be embarrassed enough, when he gets better, to know that we've seen him like this, let alone to know that you two have seen him naked. Please for him, go and do as I ask."

He waited for them to comply before turning to Hardison. "Will you be okay with this? If not, I can do this alone."

"I'm good. I'm good. Well I'm not good with the seeing Eliot naked part, but. . . . . . . . . .Listen let's just do this."

Surprisingly, taking care of Eliot hadn't taken as long as they had imagined. Once divested of what little remained of his clothes, the two man had carried the Hitter into Sophie's spacious bathroom easing him into the warm scented water, yet another thing Nate knew Eliot would protest if he could, before setting to and scrubbing the blood, sweat, dirt and filth from his body; emptying the bath and refilling it once more when the water turned black. When they had finished they carried the unresponsive man back to the bed once he was dry and clothed in boxers, both staring in shock as they looked down upon him. There was hardly a mark upon him.

They looked at each other before bending down to move for a closer look, sure his wrists were a mess, his shoulders looked reddened and swollen, and it looked as though he was still carrying some bruises and cuts from the original fight, but other than that he was relatively intact. There were more bruises covering his sternum, bruises that told Nate everything he needed to know, something he would keep secret from the others; and they could both tell that their usually fit and healthy retrievalist had lost weight, and had not been sleeping, and there was that horrible rattle that emanated from his lungs, but they both found they had expected more. Just what had happened?

Remembering feeling something as he washed the younger man down, Nate turned to Hardison and asked. "Help me turn him; I think I felt an injury to his back."

Turning the Hitter slowly, they waited as he rode out a coughing spell that shock his frame, his eyes briefly opening before exhaustion won out once more. Nate propped a pillow against his chest to ease the pressure on his bruises before moving to the Hitter's other side where Hardison stood riveted to the spot, his eyes wide.

"Hardison, what is it?" He didn't need the younger man to answer though as his eyes took in Eliot's back and the three inch long row of hastily done stitches that crossed the fleshy part above the Hitter's hip, an oblong bulge clearly visible beneath.

"That's nasty man. That's just plain old nasty. Nate man, there's something sewn inside of him."

* * *

**A.N . . . . . . . . . . .Okay, so I said that you would get some of the confusion sorted out in this chapter, but it kinda ran away with me. I promise the confusion will be sorted next chapter. On a side note, in real life I'm about to make a big move from Toronto to Chicago, so things are really up in the air at my house. I'm gonna try and still get chapter's out pretty quickly, but if I disappear for a while please bear with me, and don't worry as I will be back. Thanks as always for stopping by. Peanut x**


	7. Chapter 7

**A Broken Man.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . How do you break a man, when pain is an everyday occurrence and can be controlled? Eliot and the team are about to find out, when an easy con turns out to be anything but.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine, no money is being made; I'm just testing the waters of a new fandom.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . As always thanks to everyone who had taken time out to read, review, or add to their favs, this story so far, I'm glad you're enjoying the ride. Without further ado, here's chapter 7, I hope it clears up some of the confusion. Peanut x**

* * *

A bitterly cold wind blew in from the ocean, bringing with it the first heavy flakes of the season that coated the city beneath his window in a blanket of pristine white. Thick clouds smothered all signs of the newly rising sun, muting its normally brilliant rays and casting instead a sickly grey green glow that suited his mood perfectly. He sat in his office chair, his legs raised, his feet propped upon his desk, his head slouched back, the fingers of his left hand idly toying with the object that had been sewn into his Hitter's back. A whiskey glass sat half empty within reach, the bottle its contents had come from lying dry and decanted beside it. He reached out with the digits of his right hand, grasped the glass and downed the remaining liquid in one, relishing the slow burn as it eased down his throat, and the warmth that spread in his otherwise chilled body.

A movement in the outer office, brought his attention from where it had been languishing, back to the present and the nightmare he now found himself in. He waited to see if more movement followed that would signal that one of the team had followed him here, but heard nothing but the sound of the wind rattling the windows. He was glad, he needed time to think, needed time to decide if keeping everything he now knew a secret was the right thing to do, or if it would one day come back to haunt him. He'd left Hardison tending to Eliot, told Sophie and Parker that he needed some air, that he wouldn't be long; but instead he'd retreated to their offices, where he had booted up the computers, inserted the hidden thumb drive, and watched Eliot's missing days play in glorious Technicolor before him; now he didn't know what to do.

"You can't hide this from us Nate, he's our friend too, we deserve to know what happened and why. Don't shut us out man." Hardison spoke as he entered the room.

"How long have you been there?" Nate replied.

"Sophie told me to follow you, she's worried man. Told me to make sure you didn't do anything stupid. I saw most of what was on the drive, and as nasty as it is, we all deserve to be given the option to watch it."

"I know." Nate answered, his shoulders slipping in defeat. "I know, but it's bad and I wasn't sure how you would handle it."

"What, so you decided to carry the weight of this alone? This is Eliot man, he's busted up and broken inside, and we're the ones that are gonna have to fix him, but you gotta trust us, and we've gotta know what happened, we gotta know the truth."

"Okay, okay, we'll head back, and I'll give the others the choice."

* * *

In the end giving them the choice was not an option, both Sophie and Parker agreeing with Hardison that they needed to see what had been done. Not wanting to watch the horror movie again, Nate retreated to where Eliot was resting, leaving the others to relive Eliot's torture.

They choose to sit on the couch to watch, all three of them unconsciously positioning themselves side by side, instead of spreading out like they would normally do, needing the closeness to bring them the comfort they knew they would need once they started watching. Hardison pressed some buttons on his tablet and their chilling feature film began, videos of Eliot naked and captured and suffering played before them, overlaid with a softly accented voice.

_Eliot Spencer, _

_It has been too long my friend. Too long since our last encounter, too long since I swore you would pay for the atrocities you inflicted upon my country, for the atrocities you inflicted upon my family. You hid yourself well my friend, hiding deep underground like the vermin you are. Hid yourself so well in fact that I almost gave up hope of ever finding you again, but then you made a mistake, you surfaced for whatever reason, and your name began to float around again._

_I could have had you killed numerous times this year my friend, but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted you to suffer. Killing you would have been an easy way out for you, and an easy way out, in my eyes, in my heart, is something you do not deserve. So I watched, and I waited. Watched your little band of modern day Robin Hoods and waited for the right opportunity to strike, and plotted exactly how I would reap my revenge. _

_You see I wanted to break you Eliot, I wanted to dig deep into your soul and tear you apart from the inside out, I wanted the tough man to cower and whimper before me, I wanted to see you beg and plead; but I didn't want to kill you, I wanted to return you afterwards demoralized and destroyed, defective and defeated, damaged beyond repair, suffering for the rest of your life._

_I wanted to send you back to those who will try and fix you, I wanted to send you back to those who will want you to fight back; I want to watch from afar to see if they succeed. I want to wait in the shadows in case they do, I want to watch you walk down the street, edgy and unnerved, wary and waiting for me to strike back again, I want you to always be watching over your shoulder, I want my face to be the one that haunts your dreams at night, I want my face to be the one you glimpse in the crowd. You see my friend, even if your friends succeed, I will always be in the back of your mind, and you will always be wondering when I will strike again._

_This is not the end Eliot, this is just the beginning._

Sophie was crying, Parker had disappeared, and Hardison was struck dumb, by the time the recording had finished. The words had been haunting enough, that someone knew that they were out there and that they would try to bring Eliot back, and would be watching was bad enough; but the images were worse, much worse. The horrors that had been inflicted upon the Hitter, the psychological damage that been delivered, were much more damaging than any beating could ever be. To see their friend, their protector, bound and naked and scared and so vulnerable, was soul destroying. To see him give up at one point, and be revived, was heartbreaking. To remember him cowering and begging and not even realizing he was safe and back among friends, was something Sophie knew she would never forget.

"So what do we do?" She eventually asked, wiping at her damp eyes as she spoke.

"We do what we always do." A voice answered from behind, as Nate stepped back into the room. "We fight for those who can't fight for themselves, and at this moment in time that's Eliot. We bring him back, and we find and destroy whoever did this."

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**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . . Well I hope that you enjoyed it, will be back as soon as possible with chapter 8. Peanut x**


	8. Chapter 8

**A Broken Man.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . How do you break a man, when pain is an everyday occurrence and can be controlled? Eliot and the team are about to find out, when an easy con turns out to be anything but.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine, no money is being made; I'm just testing the waters of a new fandom.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . As always thanks to everyone who had taken time out to read, review, or add to their favs, this story so far, I'm glad you're enjoying the ride. Without further ado, here's chapter 8. Peanut x**

* * *

The dirt and grit kept tumbling in, creeping up his torso until it covered his chest, pushing down, constricting, and crushing all air from his body. He tried to move his head, tried to lift it up, tried to gasp in fresh breaths, but the dirt just kept rising; drowning out sound as it filled his ears; drying out his mouth as it trickled past lips as he screamed, making him choke and cough in lungful's of the desiccated earth; clogging up his nostrils, and soaking up all moisture from his eyes, covering him, coating him, consuming him.

His screams, and bumps and crashes, alerted the team to his awakening, Nate and Hardison the first to react, racing for the door to Sophie's bedroom, Nate's outstretched arm stopping the younger man in his tracks as they push open further, the door they had left ajar, and the Hitter comes into view.

"Hardison stop." The Mastermind cried out, before adding. "We can't rush in there, this is Eliot. He's confused, and scared, and weak, but he could still be deadly."

"Nate, man, can you see him? He needs our help." Hardison replied, but Nate's arm held firm.

The older man looked over to the corner where their Hitter now cowered; long, lank, tangled strands of his hair covering his face, his harsh breathing blowing the brown locks like curtains in the wind, showing for mere moments eyes that darted from man to man. Eyes that were still slightly feral, and glinted with a hint of the dangerous man Eliot could be, but at the same time shone mostly with confusion and fear. Deciding to take a chance, Nate inched closer. Seeing Eliot's hands clench and unclench at his movements, he began speaking softly.

"Eliot, its Nate, I'm your friend. You know me, I would never hurt you. You're safe now, you're home."

He watched as the younger man tried to take in his words, could see the confusion grow within him as he tried to get his fractured mind to grasp them and make sense of them. Watched as cracked and chapped lips opened and closed as he tried to form words, only for nothing to come out but a growled "no" as all lucidity seemed to drain from his eyes, memories returning and taking him back to his hell. Nate turned to the others and pleaded.

"Someone go and get a glass of water. He's still dehydrated, he needs to get his strength back up, and we need to try and get him lucid."

It was Parker who returned mere seconds later, a tall glass hanging loosely from her fingers; she passed it quickly to the older man then retreated back to the safety of the doorway.

Nate inched closer yet again, his arm extended, the glass held so that the Hitter could grasp it if he wanted to; his eyes fixed on Eliot's, his body ready to move at the slightest indication from the younger man that he was about to strike; his heart sinking as he watched the savageness leave the man's eyes, Eliot shrinking back, crushing himself even further into the corner, and he realized that strike wasn't about to come, that the Hitter was bracing himself for more punishment.

He tried talking to the younger man once again. "Eliot, Eliot, look at me. Please Eliot, look at me. We only want to help, you need to drink this, you need to get some fluids inside you, it'll help you think more clearly." He was pleased when the Hitter's eyes briefly glanced at glass before they turned his way, only for his good spirits to turn sour as the brown eyes quickly and submissively turned away once again. Eliot's usually powerful arms looking anything but as they wrapped around his bare legs, mumblings falling from his lips, mumblings that Nate could just make out. "No, please don't make me. I don't want no more."

The Mastermind couldn't help the defeat, he felt rising, from showing as his head drooped to his chest. He didn't know whether he was qualified to do this, whether he was good enough to do this, whether he was the right man to do this. Deep down he knew he could, but he also knew he that he would need to find the strength from the bottom of a bottle of whiskey first. He jumped slightly as a hand descended upon his shoulder, and turned to the body that had crept beside him.

"You don't need a drink. You can do this Nate. He trusts you. More than any of us, he trusts you. Believe in yourself, and he will too." Sophie's accented voice whispered into his ear, as always attuned to what he was thinking.

They were just the right words he needed to hear, boosting his confidence, and encouraging him to try once more. His brilliant mind began to work, thinking back over everything that had happened, thinking back over everything they now knew, mentally slapping himself when he realized his mistake.

"Sophie, take this away and bring me a bottle that hasn't been opened. I should have realized he wouldn't trust anything that could have been tainted." Nate waited for her to return with the requested item, before turning back to Eliot and trying again. "Eliot, Eliot, look at me. You can trust me; I promise you I won't hurt you." Eyes turned his way, barely visible through the curtain of chestnut locks. "That's good, that's a start. I brought you a bottle of water. It's not been open I promise. It's safe Eliot; you can drink it if you want to." He moved forward to place the bottle closer, dismayed once again when the younger man once more cowered away from contact. "Hey, it's okay, it's alright, I told you, I promised you, I will not hurt you. I'll just leave it right here and when you're ready you can take it, is that okay?"

He waited for a response, prayed for one, as some sort of sign he was getting through; but when it came, on a whispered breath, he was unsure of how to take it.

"Too noisy, too loud, make the noises stop." Eliot pleaded, his hands releasing ahold of his legs and clamping down over his ears.

Nate turned to the others, hoping that they had some idea, but gaining nothing but confused looks from all three.

"I'll go over the footage again; see if there's anything we missed." Hardison eventually stammered out, the need to get away from seeing his friend so damaged growing by the second. Eliot was the strong one, the one the others relied on to get them out of fixes, he wasn't supposed to look like this, cringing and begging and cowering on the floor like some scared and kicked puppy. He turned away, feeling guilty for not staying, yet knowing there was nothing he could do to help in that room, but out here, out here he had cyberspace, and in cyberspace he ruled; he would find answers, and at the same time start looking. Start looking for the man who had hurt his friend, his Brother, and once he found him, he would make Eliot's life a little easier by taking away that threat.

* * *

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . As always I hope that you enjoyed, will be back soon with more. Peanut x**


	9. Chapter 9

**A Broken Man.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . How do you break a man, when pain is an everyday occurrence and can be controlled? Eliot and the team are about to find out, when an easy con turns out to be anything but.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine, no money is being made; I'm just testing the waters of a new fandom.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . I'm so sorry I made you wait for this chapter, my big move final happened and I'm now getting settled into my new home here in America. Please bear with me if the chapters still come out a tad slow, I have no internet at the moment so every time I want to post I have to walk on down to the library, fingers crossed it won't be for much longer. As always thanks to everyone who has taken time out to read, review, or add to their favs, this story so far, I'm glad you're enjoying the ride. Without further ado, here's chapter 9. Peanut x**

* * *

Hardison refused to stop looking, surviving on orange soda and candy whilst the others ate a normal meal, unwilling to take his eyes away from his research for even a second, just in case he miss the merest morsel that would be of help. Everything around him faded into white noise, the movements of the rest of the team going by unnoticed; the only thoughts that sometimes created a lapse in his concentration were those that centered on his broken friend. Even then, after a few seconds they too were pushed aside, now was not the time to lose focus, thinking about what Eliot had been through, and was still going through, would not help. So they were stored away in the back of his mind, locked away until this was all over.

He pushed away from the table, excitement glistening in his otherwise tired and abused eyes, a shout to alert the other dying upon his lips, as he noticed for the first time the quickly fading natural light around him, confusion replacing his excitement; just how long had he been typing away? The creaking and stiffness of his joints as he moved, told him a lot, but it was the disembodied voice that told him the rest; a voice that came from the couch.

"Two days. You've been working away in a world of your own for two days." Parker's blonde locks came into view as she rose, before adding in an accusatory tone. "You've not even been in to see him."

"I know . . . . . . . . but you know it's like, you know . . . . . . . . . it's too hard man." Hardison stammered out in reply. "It's like he's there, but he's not."

"Just cause he's not Eliot at the moment, doesn't mean that you can ignore him, he needs us Hardison. He needs all of us."

"I know that, but I don't know whether I can give him what he needs. I just don't know how to act around him man, and at least out here I feel as though I'm doing something."

"Just act like you normally would." Parker shot over her shoulder as she retreated from the room.

"Parker's right Hardison, just be yourself around him." Nate voice sounded out behind the hacker. "But you're also right, you are helping out here. Now what did you find out, you jumped up out of your chair like you had some good news."

"Nate man, I had to hack into some of the most restricted sites out there to gather most of this, that's why it has taken so long, I'm surprised we haven't had people bashing down our doors these files are that classified. Hell man, Eliot did some nasty shit in his time, he brought down some seriously shady people for our government, but if you ask the higher ups he never even existed, and all that was before he went solo, after that his name kinda went off the grid and I had to go on hearsay. It was scary man, reading some of his supposed exploits."

"That's all well and good Hardison." Nate shot out, stopping the younger man from wandering off his train of thought. "But I know most of that. What I don't know is why Eliot was taken, or by who. Did you happen to find out anything about that?"

"Now there's no need for the attitude, I was getting to the good stuff, has anyone ever told you, you have zero patience man, zero."

"Dammit Hardison!"

"Okay, okay. So I tapped into the FBI facial recognition program and run our guys face, not surprisingly it didn't take long to come back with a hit. Dragoslav Ducovich is on their guys to look out for list. Officially he's cleaner than the cleanest nun, never done any time, or even committed any crimes, he's one seriously careful man Nate. He kept all his money at home, refused to leave a paper trail by storing it in banks. Unofficially is another matter. I dug a lot deeper and his name comes up in connection with everything man, and I mean everything; drug trafficking, gun smuggling, porn, and the worst, child smuggling, and I don't mean they end up in some cute white picket fenced western homes, these kids end up staring in most of his videos. It was nasty shit Nate; some of these kids were less than eight years old."

"I'm sorry you had to read, and see, all that but we needed to know what Eliot was into. Now I can understand why this would upset him, especially the kids, but it still doesn't explain why this Ducovich targeted Eliot like he did. What did he mean on the hard drive about the atrocities inflicted upon his country, upon his family?"

"Well it seems Ducovich's pastimes did indeed upset our hitter, I found a report of an unknown man, and I quote, that brought down destruction upon Ducovich's home. An unknown man with long hair that blew with every charge he'd set. An unknown man who wreaked havoc yet never fired one round. Sound familiar?"

"Eliot."

"Yep, he brought down the house man, and consequently as a result started to bring down the country."

"How?"

"Think about it, Ducovich's money was gone, the drug manufacturers wanted their money back and when it didn't appear they took it back their own way, by using the only leverage he had left, his family. The weapons he brought in for his government stopped flowing, so the war they were waging started to turn against them, and eventually they lost. Eliot leaked a tape of his child pornography to the right people, and they came down looking for their own retribution. The government of course blamed Ducovich; his surviving family blamed him also, so he ran. Unfortunately for us, for Eliot, he was never caught, and like most lowlifes he managed to crawl back out of the gutter, and is now even richer and more powerful than ever."

"So, how do we bring him down again? How do we make life safe for Eliot once more?"

"Hell man, I aint no mastermind, I'm just a hacker. Plans are your thing man, I just go along for the ride."

"Then I guess I better get planning."

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**A.N. . . . . . . . That's all for now folks! This was a tough one to write, so I hope it comes across okay. Be back soon with more, and thanks once again for reading. Peanut x**


	10. Chapter 10

**A Broken Man.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . How do you break a man, when pain is an everyday occurrence and can be controlled? Eliot and the team are about to find out, when an easy con turns out to be anything but.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine, no money is being made; I'm just testing the waters of a new fandom.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . Yeah, I have my internet back! It's crazy how much you miss it when it's gone. Thanks for bearing with me whilst I've moved, and for taking time out to read, review, or add to favorites this fic. Without further ado here's chapter 10, and for those of you who missed him in the last chapter, Eliot's back, well somewhat. Peanut x**

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Sophie pulled her chair closer to the bed Eliot was resting upon, well if you could call it resting? She ignored the warnings that Nate had given her, to keep her distance just in case, and leaned ever closer to the man she had come to trust with her life, removing the now warm cloth from his overheated forehead, rinsing it once again in the bowl of cool water resting upon her bedside table before smoothing it back once more. She couldn't resist drawing her hand down his gaunt cheek, not liking the heat or the hollowness she felt there, or the stubble that coated it, but wanting, needing to bring some element of comfort in any way she could; it did little though to abate the tossing and turning of the younger man.

They should have known it wouldn't have been so easy to fix this; should have known that after everything they had witnessed Eliot suffering through, that his recovery would be anything but rocky. The infection and resultant fever had struck savagely, attacking the already weakened immune system, and sending Eliot's body into a downward spiral, which had seen him, delusional within minutes; thrashing and moaning upon the bed, and drenching sheets faster than they could change them. Both Parker and herself, had begged Nate at that point to take Eliot into hospital, even though they knew the risks that would be involve, both women hating seeing the usually strong man reduced to this; but Nate had held firm, choosing instead to battle on through using Eliot's own supplies, and those Parker gladly went out and stole, to help them; which was why the Grifter now found herself in this position.

The other's had tried to help, tried to offer their own comfort, but Parker couldn't stay still long enough, and Hardison couldn't handle the pitiful sight before him, and for some unknown reason Eliot seemed to now shrink from Nate's touch; so Sophie had taken up Eliot's wellbeing, her nurturing motherly side erupting from deep within her, and had spent hours sat by the hurting Hitter's side, offering comfort, soothing words, and a cool compress, and hoping that with each hour that past, Eliot would hear her, or feel her, and fight his way back. So far though, nothing had broken through, and her fears were heightening.

She inched even closer still, as Eliot's delusions gripped him all the more, and the mumbling upon the bed increased, words previously difficult to hear, now spewing forth loud and clear; limbs flailing as the younger man fought off invisible attackers, and cried out for help, for someone to save him. Tears fell freely from her eyes as those cries changed, and Eliot's pleas for it all to end, for his attackers to take his life, reached her ears.

"No Eliot, don't think that. You're safe back here with us, it's just a nightmare; just a nightmare." She cried out, as she rubbed her thumb in soothing circles upon his cheek hoping to mollify some of his distress, but her words fell upon deaf ears, and her comfort refused to break through. It seeming to her, as it so often did with Eliot that he turned away from it, not knowing how to handle it, that he didn't deserve it, or even to know what comfort was. "Eliot please calm down, please believe that you're safe, and with family, and that we need you back with us." She tried again, but all it seemed her words did, was to agitate the Hitter all the more.

Concern ratcheting, and seeing little else to do to calm him, Sophie stood, looked briefly at the door, Nate was going to kill her, before sitting on the edge of the bed and gentle lifting the frail man up. Maneuvering him about took little effort, thanks to all the weight he had lost; restraining his thrashing arms, made easier from his weakened state; until at last she had him as she wanted him, her back leaning against the mound of propped up pillows Parker had strewn across the bed, Eliot's own back resting against her torso, his sweat soaked head placed upon her chest. Her arms gently encircled him, not enough for him to feel restrained and get agitated, but enough to let him know someone was there for him, comforting him; a smile gracing her lips, as finally he seemed to still within her arms, his breathing evening out as his nightmare abated.

One arm moved upwards as Eliot drifted off into his first deep sleep in what seemed like days, her fingers gently toying with his damp locks, the motion relieving tension and bringing solace to both of them, and she found her own eyes drooping as the events of the last few weeks crashed down on her, exhaustion enveloping her, until everything around her faded into darkness.

It was Nate who found them that way hours later, his anger at Sophie washing away as he took in the relaxed state of the Hitter, and the refreshing and healing sleep he was now getting. Walking over, he placed a gentle hand upon the Hitter's forehead, checking for the fever that had refused to leave the younger man for so long, the dismay he felt at the Hitter once again flinching away from him, replaced soon after with joy as he noted the fiery heat had retreated; although still warm, Eliot's body was beginning to fight back.

He eased his way back out of the room, leaving his two team mates exactly as they were, allowing them both to rejuvenate from the contact. He had seen how depleted Sophie had been, seen how hard she had taken seeing Eliot as he was, and knew this closeness was helping them both. For that he was grateful, because he needed a fully functioning Sophie for the next stage. He had his plan, and it was now time to execute it.

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**A.N. . . . . . . . . . Sorry about the shortness, but this seemed like a good time to leave it for now. Will be back soon with more, Peanut x**


	11. Chapter 11

**A Broken Man.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . How do you break a man, when pain is an everyday occurrence and can be controlled? Eliot and the team are about to find out, when an easy con turns out to be anything but.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine, no money is being made; I'm just testing the waters of a new fandom.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . Sorry about the wait, I've been job hunting so you can imagine my mind has been elsewhere this week. Here's chapter 11, I hope the content makes up for the wait? Catch you soon, Peanut x**

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Damn it! Nate thought to himself, his mind already whirling as he tried to come up with a new plan, as the one they were currently working fell down around him. He should have known better; should have known that Ducovich was smarter than they had thought; should have known he would have seen through their con; he had after all seen through the first one, and Eliot had paid a very high price for it. Now it seemed they were the ones about to pay. It had been simple, the simplest con he had ever heard of. So simple, he had figured Ducovich wouldn't even have looked for it, that they could have just flown in under the radar, plant the seeds, retreat, and watch from afar as his empire collapsed around him. He should have known better.

It had started off well, Hardison and Sophie had met with Ducovich's men, playing their roles of African warlord and the mediator brought in to help him acquire new weapons and technology, with just the right amount of flair and passion. Nate should have known it went too well. Even when Parker had reported in the ease in which she had rappelled down to, and entered Ducovich's office, Nate had thought little of it. Sure it had briefly flittered through his mind, that things were going too easy, but then Ducovich had shown up for the meeting with Sophie and Hardison, and his mind had pushed aside his concerns and focused instead on the con. Now though as the barrel of a gun was pushed harshly into his ribs, he wished he had listened.

He rearranged his game face as he was urged closer to a door, tried to look calm and cool as he was pushed roughly inside the room, his feet catching one another and sending him sprawling to the floor; but inside his mind was spinning, trying to come up with a way out of this, and his guts were churning with panic. It wasn't just his life at stake, it was Hardison's, and Parker's, and Sophie's, and god could it be possible, Eliot's too. Had Ducovich known all along? Had he known where Eliot was? Had he known that they were a team, and would try and seek revenge, justice for the things that had been inflicted upon their colleague, their friend? As he looked past their handcuffed hands and the guns trained upon them, looked past the frightened eyes of Hardison, and the concerned eyes of Sophie, and the angered eyes of Parker, and into the cold and clinical orbs of Peter Ducovich, Nate knew his conclusion was right; they had been played at their own game, and they had met their match.

He watched as Ducovich spoke in Croatian to his underlings, "ići sada, ići dobiti ga, ga dovesti ovdje, tako da možemo igrati još jednom." Three of them rushing from the room, leaving only the one guarding him and the one whose gun was trained on the others. A quick look Sophie's way told him all he needed to know, as she mouthed the word Eliot. They had gone for their unprotected hitter. He tried not to think about it though as words echoed around the room.

"Mr. Ford, so nice of you to join us." Ducovich spoke again, as Nate clambered back to his feet. "I figured at some point you would try to bring me down, I must admit seeing how I left poor Eliot, I thought it would have taken you longer, he was after all in such a mess when I gave him back to you. How is my friend Eliot doing now? Better I hope?"

Hardison stepped in front of Parker as Ducovich bragged and taunted, his movements almost looking like he was dancing with her, as she tried to get around him, and ranted on about "throwing things off rather tall buildings, and hoping they squished when they landed," but it was Nate that finally answered, as he calmly took a seat in front of Ducovich's impressive desk. "He's doing great. He'll be back to his normal self in no time."

"Ah. . . . . . . . .I believe you are now lying to me Mr. Ford, something which I know you to be proficient at. You see I know Eliot, probably better than anyone else do I know him, and I know his weaknesses, I know the chinks in his armor, I know the best way to break him. I have after all explored them before." Ducovich stopped as he spoke his last words, and turned back from where he had been pouring himself a drink, wanting to see the reaction to them, in the mastermind's eyes. He was not disappointed, as Nate's carefully placed mask slipped for just a second, as he figured out just what his words implied. He savored the moment and emptied his glass, refilling it once more before adding.

"Oh, it's been a long, long time since I last delved down there, but you should know Eliot, you chased him long enough, how do you think I got him to work for me in the first place, Mr. Ford? He had, as you westerners put it, become a loner by then. Oh I asked, and I offered rich rewards, but he always refused, always swore he was done. I wanted the best and he was it, but Eliot had changed somewhat, working for that idiot Moreau had broken something inside of him, and I didn't want a broken Hitter, I wanted the blood thirsty bastard I knew he could be. So I set about retrieving it, and if you know anything about me Mr. Ford, as I'm sure Mr. Hardison has told you, I always get what I want. A slipped drug into a drink here, and Eliot was putty within my hands, waiting to be molded back into what God created him for. It was all too easy really; he really was less suspicious at that time. It was a pure work of art, and by the time I had finished, he never even had a clue what I had done, never even had a clue where he had been, or who he had been with. So you see I've done it before, and I'm about to do it again, but this time he'll know it was me, and maybe this time I might get bored, maybe this time I will end it for once and for all."

"Eliot will kill you, he's better than you, he's stronger than you, he'll rip you to pieces." Parker's tear filled voice cried out.

"I fear not Miss. Parker. You see I really do know Eliot, and I really do know he won't be back to normal for a very long time."

Everybody in the room turned, a gasp falling from Sophie's lips, as another voice entered the picture. A voice they all knew. A voice that was even lower and huskier than usual, but still deadly, and laced with a rage the Leverage team had never, ever heard before, no matter what or who they had dealt with. "I wouldn't be so sure of that!" Eliot spoke, his body framed in the doorway looking tired and weak, yet strong and determined, a gun held steady within each hand, the ominous clunk click of rounds being chambered echoing around the room before a silence descended. He watched with feral eyes, waiting for the twitch that would signal the beginning of the end, one shot ringing out from both his barrels once he witnessed the nervous twitch, before both swung up to rest upon Ducovich.

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**A.N. . . . . . . . . . Okay, so I have to apologize, firstly for leaving it there, but it really is the ideal place to stop for now, you'll get Eliot's side next chapter; and secondly for the con. I tried, I really did, to come up with something, but I couldn't do it, so I did what I did. I hope it worked? Be back soon with more. Peanut x**

**Oh and the Croatian should translate to "go now, go get him, bring him here so we can play once more." If not blame stars21.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A Broken Man.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . How do you break a man, when pain is an everyday occurrence and can be controlled? Eliot and the team are about to find out, when an easy con turns out to be anything but.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine, no money is being made; I'm just testing the waters of a new fandom.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . . So it seems I'm the confusion master once again, so I figured I better explain myself. The Con, I tried I really did, to make up something new and original, but it just wouldn't come together for me; so yet again, like the first chapter, I jumped and started at the end of a con going bad. Another confusion, was Ducovich's torturing of Eliot, yes he had done it before to get a then "retired" Eliot to work for him. As for Eliot's miraculous recovery; well that's about to be explained now, so here's chapter 12, I hope you enjoy and that some things are made clearer. Peanut x**

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He woke up, his body shooting from the bed, muscles trembling, eyes darting, each breath a stuttered gasp. He tried to calm himself, tried to will his body into control, tried to remember what it was that had awakened him, and frightened him so much; but it was like his mind was a vast muddied mire, and the information was teasing him from way across the other side. He tried to reach for it, tried to make his way through the mess, but each step seemed to take him further away from it, as his feet and legs became covered in the glutinous sludge, the weight dragging him down, and each step becoming a torturous battle; so he stop trying to battle through, and instead took the easy route out, allowing the mire to engulf him. His body relaxed, falling back onto what he perceived to be the softness and safety of the bed, his breathing calmed, his eyes stopped their frantic searching, his hands released their furious hold of the sheets, and his mind floated.

It was a noise that brought him back from the brink of going under, something amiss within the otherwise deafening silence, making his breath catch once more, and the trembles that had been abating to return. Someone was here; someone was coming to get him. Jumbled fragments of memories assaulted him, flashing through his head like a speeded up video. Pain and suffering and torture and pleading, mixed with relief and comfort and need and warmth; but which one was real, which one was he now trapped in. He remembered people tending to him, reassuring him, their hands fixing him, warmth and safety; but he also remembered someone hurting him, and taunting him, their hands damaging him, being cold and vulnerable. Which version was he in now? As the noise grew, so too did his confusion.

Sheets were pushed aside as his confusion grew, he had to get out of there; he wanted to feel safe, wanted to believe he was, but something niggled at the very back of his mind, something that was telling him to run. He stood on legs that threatened to buckle at any minute, his eyes once more darting about the room, looking desperately for a way to escape. Some distant part of his mind told him the window was his best chance, that there was an escape there, precautions set up. Why he would know this, why he would do that he didn't know, but his body moved that way on instinct. Frustration grew when he got there, this was wrong, this wasn't the place with the precautions placed all over, this wasn't the window with the way out; this place was somewhere different, and this place now held him trapped.

Anxiety overwhelmed him, sweat poured from every pore, his breathing quickened, not enough air getting through, his hands clenched and unclenched by his sides, his nails gouging into the bare flesh of his thighs, the skin reddening and splitting, blood flowing; yet he felt nothing but fear and an overwhelming need to run. There was nowhere to go though, and as the voices drew nearer all he could do was slide to the floor behind the door, and retreat once more within his mind. Words start to break through, words spoken in an accent that chills him, words that some deep down part of him pushes him to understand. He doesn't know why, but he feels he needs to listen, feels that it's important.

"Dmitri, you think the boss will. . . . . . . . . . ."

"Shut up you fool!"

"Why? He's no longer a threat."

A third voice joined in the conversation, agreeing with his friend's assessment. "He's damaged goods, we worked him over good and proper, and we're about to do it again." Eliot trembled in fear behind the door, his mind telling him they were talking about him, the next words confirming it.

"Eliot Spencer is always a threat."

"I think not my friend, but I no longer care, now the woman, the blonde that I care about. You think the boss will let me play with her?" Eliot's breathe stuck in his throat. A blonde why did that seem so familiar? Memories assaulted him. An agile lithe body, face framed with golden locks, innocence, and a contagious smile. He knew this person; he had feelings for this person; he had protected this person, and now as the intruders spoke again, Eliot knew he had to protect her once more, her and some others.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Are you? She's hot, the brunette too, so do you think he'll let me play?"

"I doubt it, he's already ordered that once we return they will be killed, probably in front of Spencer."

A new feeling started to bubble and boil within Eliot, forcing aside all others, rising from deep down, flowing through every vein. Fear melted away as it coursed its way past, anxiety and confusion drowned beneath its waves, as a man he would normally try so hard to contain, was unleashed. He still didn't truly understand, still didn't truly know why he felt the need to save them, but he knew he had to.

Overconfidence and cockiness made getting rid of the first two intruders easy, they'd thought him broken, had considered him no threat, but their words had struck home, they had threatened someone he felt an overpowering urge to protect. The third guy though, the third guy was different, he'd come prepared, he'd come expecting a fight, and Eliot didn't disappoint. Kicks and punches, elbows and knees, teeth and head Eliot used them all; moves were produced, that Eliot didn't even know where they came from, or how he knew them; the beast had been unleashed, and soon the intruder knew he was to be defeated; his body dropping to the floor soon after.

Eliot stood there victorious, breathing heavily, and bleeding from mouth and nose, an unfelt trickle also leaking down his hip; all traces of his former cowering self now gone, as the beast remained in control. He wiped at his face with a damp cloth he found on the dresser, before he walked from the bedroom and into the living room, his eyes instinctively searching for what he needed, finding it strewn across the coffee table. He read quickly, mentally planning what he would do next, trying to hurry before the beast retreated and his strength waned. He faltered as removed the weapons from his unconscious assailants, the guns heavy within his grasp; but they would be needed, the true Eliot was about to be witnessed.

He'd forced himself to take his time, to not rush in, once he'd arrived at his destination; forced himself to listen to advice of unknown origin and stealthily make his way to the office he needed; but his strength was failing, he could feel something was wrong, could feel his cowering self once more wanting to get out. It was the voice of the blond that steeled his resolve, the fear and concern he felt in her tone allowing him to push forward. He opened the door, stood framed within it and spoke.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that." The guns were held steady within his hands, and cocked with a natural ease, his eyes watching, waiting for the moment he knew would come, the triggers simultaneously pulled back once it finally did so, before both barrels came to rest upon the devil himself.

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**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . Well I hope that clears up some of the confusion? I always had this feeling, from the show, that a threat against the others would break through to Eliot, no matter what he had been put through, so that's the way I chose to go. I should say though that he is by no means fixed yet. Will be back soon with more. Peanut x**


	13. Chapter 13

**A Broken Man.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . How do you break a man, when pain is an everyday occurrence and can be controlled? Eliot and the team are about to find out, when an easy con turns out to be anything but.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine, no money is being made; I'm just testing the waters of a new fandom.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . Thank you so much to everyone who has taken time out to read this story so far, and to those who have reviewed or added to favorites, I very much appreciate it. Here's chapter 13, will catch you at the end. Peanut x**

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Sophie screamed as the warm blood splashed across her, and the body of the man who had been holding them at gunpoint dropped into her lap before sliding to the floor in front of them, dead before he even hit it, a huge gaping exit wound visible on his back. Nate dared not to look their way, didn't want to see their reactions to Eliot's brutal butchery, as his own guard was propelled backwards, a bloodstain rapidly growing as the result of the perfect aim to the heart Eliot had shot. He'd always known the Hitter had a savage side, always known he fought hard every day to contain that savageness deep within him, was not surprised that when confronted with his friends held at gunpoint he had allowed those walls he had carefully constructed to fall. He wasn't angry though, or scared, or even disappointed, he'd tracked and hunted enough people in his time to realize the arms dealer had no plans to ever let them go, that they would have died here if Eliot hadn't have come; died after watching Eliot suffer once again, maybe even used to make that suffering hit home even more. So he was happy Eliot had come, but he was worried also, worried and concerned; worried about the Hitter's fitness, worried about how long Eliot could keep this act of being okay going, worried about who would make the next move, concerned about the confusion he could see in the Hitter's eyes; so he kept his eyes trained on Ducovich, ignoring Eliot, and readied himself to pounce and help at any given moment.

"Eliot, Eliot, Eliot, you really have to stop doing this, you really have to stop murdering all my best men." Ducovich spoke, eventually ending the silence that had fallen after the retort of the gunfire had faded.

"He didn't murder them! He was protecting us." Parker angrily shouted back, wanting to defend her friend's actions, straining at the cuffs that still held her.

"Oh I believe he did Miss Parker. He came in here, guns drawn, and shot them down in cold blood, without any sign of remorse; now what would you call that?" He paused and quickly glanced at the Hitter, noticing the slight waver of the guns still held in his hands, seeing an advantage he started talking again. "By no means is that the worst thing he has ever done, I've seen him do much more atrocious things in his time, isn't that right Eliot? Why do you remember that time in. . . . . . . . . . . . .?"

"Shut up!" Eliot growled, his hands beginning to tremble even more.

"Oh I think not, your friends sought to take justice for you Eliot. I think it's only right that they should truly know who they are hanging around with. Have you ever told them of your past Eliot? Have you ever told them of the things you have done, or the people you have slaughtered?"

It was Nate's voice that rang out this time, seeing what Ducovich's words were doing to the Hitter's reserves, and stopping the Bosnian's rant. "Don't listen to him Eliot, focus on my voice. We don't care what happened in the past, we all have dark secrets, you have to believe that." Unwittingly, as he spoke he took his eyes off of Ducovich and looked at Eliot, the Hitter looking his way at the same time wanting to see the truth there, the arms dealer using that slight loss of focus to his advantage.

"Nate! Look out!" Hardison shouted out. Nate turned at the warning, but his actions were too late, the bullet slamming into his side before his brain even registered a shot had been fired.

"Noooooooooooo!" Sophie screamed, her own arms tugging fiercely at her own bonds. "Nate! Nate! Can you hear me? Answer me Nate, please. You bloody bastard Ducovich, I'm going to see you rot in hell for that, and I'll be lounging in a ringside seat."

"It was not my fault he got hurt, you all entered into something that did not concern you, this was between me and Eliot, so you could say it was Eliot's fault he got shot." Ducovich uttered, ignoring the shouts of protest from the other three, his focus purely on the Hitter whose own eyes had yet to leave the growing stain of crimson that spread across Nate's pure white shirt. He noted the trembling increase even further, noted the sheer devastation written across the man's feature, and wanted to increase that devastation also. He went in for the kill. "Eliot, you should have learned by now you always work better solo, you always have a habit of getting those who venture close to you killed. You cause them nothing but pain and suffering. Do you still hear them begging in your dreams? Do you still hear them begging as you cruelly walk away and leave them to die?"

"Don't you listen to him, don't you listen to him man!" Hardison shouted trying to get through the haze Ducovich had surrounded the Hitter in, cursing beneath his breath when he noted his words falling upon deafened ears.

"Why do you do it Eliot? Why do you continually surround yourself with people you eventually get killed?" Ducovich asked. "Your Momma, your baby Sister, your army team, Isabella. . . . . . . . . . . . . . ." He trailed off as the Hitter's eyes finally rose to his own, relishing the look of pure anguish oozing from the blue orbs. "Ahhh, I see you still remember her? As do I my friend, as do I. She was such a pure beauty, but her life was destined to be destroyed the minute she met you, but you kept her around, told her you loved her, told her everything would be okay, and then killed her."

"No!" Eliot whispered. "No!"

"Yes Eliot, you killed her as much as if you had pulled the trigger. You should have never taken her from my family, the minute you did you killed her."

"No, I saved her, I loved her, she was happy with me, I was going to leave the business, we were going to be married, she was having my. . . . . . . . . ."

"Eliot, you could never have made her happy, you would never have left the business."Ducovich spat out.

"I could have, I would have."

Ducovich stopped talking, this wasn't working out as planned, and Eliot's resolve seemed to be creeping back. He waited for the man's eyes to once again drift to the unmoving form of that fool Nathan Ford, before making his next move. Pouncing quickly, he grabbed the Hitter pulling him back, stopping his struggles as he pushed the barrel of his gun harshly into the man's throat, another gun that had been hidden in his pocket now aimed at the Hitter's team.

"Drop the guns Eliot, I will shoot them, you know I will starting with the Hacker, after all I wouldn't want to hurt those pretty faces before I got the chance to play with them." He smiled as Eliot complied, the Hitter seeming to crumple in front of his eyes, before pulling the man even further away and back towards the middle of the room. "Put these on." He ordered throwing a pair of cuffs his way. He waited for the bands of steel to ratchet shut before turning the gun and viciously slamming it into the Hitter's face. "You stupid son of a bitch, you know better than to mess with me, you know better than to kill my men, and now I'm going to make you pay." He turned away from the dazed Hitter, and spoke this time to the Grifter. "You were right when you said you'd have a ringside seat, you just go the main event wrong." Turning back he grabbed a remote that was lying upon the desk, pressing a button that lowered a hook from the ceiling. He tightened the steel rings even more before pulling the weakened man up, he placed the cuffs over the hook before raising it once more back up, not stopping until the Hitter's feet dangled inches above the floor, his weight supported by the cuffs that dug angrily into his flesh. Walking over the Hitter's three team mates, he caressed Parker's hair and planted a chastise kiss upon her head before stating. "Let's get this party started."

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**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . That's all for now folks! I hope that you enjoyed, will be back soon with more. Peanut x**


	14. Chapter 14

**A Broken Man.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . How do you break a man, when pain is an everyday occurrence and can be controlled? Eliot and the team are about to find out, when an easy con turns out to be anything but.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine, no money is being made; I'm just testing the waters of a new fandom.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . Thank you so much to everyone who has taken time out to read this story so far, and to those who have reviewed or added to favorites, I very much appreciate it. Here's chapter 14, will catch you at the end. Peanut x**

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It was like a switch had been thrown. All the adrenaline, all the energy he had mustered up from deep down within him, when he knew his friends were in danger and needed his help, evaporated the minute awareness returned and he found himself once more dangling from his bound wrists; shoulders screaming in agony, and bloody trails once more trickling down from beneath the cuffs. His confused and battered mind struggled to find reason. Was it all a dream? Had he imagined the feelings of safety? Had he never left that place that brought back so many bad memories? The place where he existed in a world of agony and anxious terror; a world where the gentlest of touches on the wrong part of his body, hurt as much as the most vicious of blows; a world where he cried and begged for someone to come and save him this time, only to be crushed when no matter how much he pled, no one would answer. He couldn't do this anymore, didn't want to hurt anymore, so he did the only thing he could do to save himself from all the pain he knew was to come. He shut down. Shut down as the last of his strength deserted him, and allowed his body to dangle limply from its bounds, his head falling forward to his chest in defeat.

It was Sophie's cry of pure anguish, screaming their Hitter's name, which roused him, the tone of her voice dripping with her fears, dragging him from blissful oblivion and back into a world that was ruled by pain. He bit back a cry of agony and stopped himself from moving, as his mind screamed at him danger, danger, danger; instead he tried to breathe normally, and tried to remember what Eliot had taught them all about riding through the pain, his mind clearing as he remembered and put those techniques into practice, voices drifting to him through the fog; voices that were angry and terrified, yet still held a note of defiance. Another voice breached his mind, and in an instant Nate remembered everything, where he was, and what he was doing there. Eliot's disappearance; finding him again hurt and broken; Ducovich and their plan to destroy him; being captured and fearing for their Hitter once again; the pride he had felt in the younger man, and Eliot's remarkable strength when he had shown up to try and help them; the searing pain that registered before the gunshot, that enveloped him and sent him crashing into the darkness. Waking up he knew nothing of what had gone on afterwards, but years of chasing and being chased had instilled within him a need to listen to what his body and mind were telling him, and at this moment in time they were both telling him to bide his time, to listen and observe, and wait for the right opportunity to strike.

He cracked open an eye ever so slightly, not wanting to give away the fact that he was awake, and waited for it to focus before looking around and taking in the situation. He's fallen off the chair he was originally pushed into, and was now sprawled, his back facing the others, at an awkward angle at its feet; his body screaming in protest as the position pressed upon the wound on his side. He tried not to think about it, tried not to give away any signs that he was alert, and instead focused upon trying to find a way out of the situation they all now found themselves in, because even though he couldn't see them from where he was sat, Nate knew things had gotten worse.

Straining through the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears, Nate tried to listen to the other voices within the room, needing more help to figure out just how serious the situation now was; eventually hearing Ducovich and Sophie spitting verbal abuse at each other, Hardison and Parker occasionally putting their two pennies worth in too, but not one word from their Hitter and that, whilst not unusual for the normally quiet man, sent a cold grip of fear throughout Nate's body. This was bad. This was very bad. And he was the only one that could now save them all. Cracking his eyes open even more he looked around for anything that could help them, his spirits soaring as his blurred vision caught site of something. He blinked owlishly, trying to gain more focus, trying to make sure he wasn't wrong in what he thought he saw; a smile grin breaking over his features when his eyes cleared more and his initial assessment turned out to be true. One of Eliot's guns had fallen within reach, and Nate knew that it would still be loaded, their Hitter was nothing if not thorough, he would have inserted a full clip, and he'd only fired two bullets; one from each of his guns.

As the taunts came thicker and faster behind him, and the Mastermind heard his first signs, that the Hitter was still alive, in the form of whimpers and pleas, he made his move; praying as he did so that he would go unnoticed, that they would continue to ignore him thinking him still unconscious. His hand moved out, carefully, quietly, inch by precious inch, sweat beading out on his forehead as he strained against his wound, and the tenseness of the situation; he had to get this right, everyone's lives now depended on him. His fingers brushed across the cold steel, the temptation to finish this making him hasty, and he agonizingly pushed it further from him. He forced himself to calm down, but as the sound of clothing being torn, and Eliot's heartbreaking pleas increased, he knew he had to make his move.

His fingers brushed across the gun again, and he willed them to take a better hold, nearly sagging in relief when they grasped the stock and began to pull it back to him. He didn't have time to check, couldn't risk any slight sound, just had to trust in his belief in Eliot. He hugged the gun to his chest, hiding it from site for now, closed his eyes, and put his plan into action. The moans that fell from his lips were genuine, he really was now in a lot of pain, and the reaction they garnered was just what he had hoped. He listened as Ducovich taunted the others once more, this time with threats of what would be done to the Mastermind; listened as his boots struck the wooden floor as he strode nearer; felt his hands roughly grasp his arm and begin to turn him over, his eyes opening as he began to roll, the gun moving, his finger tightening, his heart relishing the look of shock that spread across the Croatian's face as bullet after bullet after bullet slammed into his torso, forcing him back his arms wheeling, his legs stumbling, until Nate's aim was true and one ripped through his heart, and Ducovich dropped.

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**A.N. . . . . . . . . . That's all for now folks! Sorry about the wait, I hope the content made up for it? Will be back soon with more, catch you later, Peanut x**


	15. Chapter 15

**A Broken Man.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . How do you break a man, when pain is an everyday occurrence and can be controlled? Eliot and the team are about to find out, when an easy con turns out to be anything but.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine, no money is being made; I'm just testing the waters of a new fandom.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . I'm so sorry it's been so long since I last updated, I just landed in a funk and I'm struggling to get out of it. Thank you so much to everyone who has taken time out to read this story so far, and to those who have reviewed or added to favorites, I very much appreciate it. Here's chapter 15, will catch you at the end. Peanut x**

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The gun felt like a lead weight in his hands, its metal frame red hot to his touch, as his mind whirled and the consequences of his actions slammed into his brain. He'd killed a man. He'd taken a life. As shock set in, those thoughts were all he could think about. It didn't matter that it was Ducovich, a man so vile and not fit to be called human, a man who had tortured and broken Eliot before and was about to do so again, a man who had killed many in his lifetime, a man who was about to kill again and take all of their lives; he was still a man, and Nate had taken his live. For the first time he felt what Eliot did, and realized why their Hitter hated guns so much. He allowed the leaden weight to drop from numb fingers and clattered noisily to the floor, his head falling sluggishly to his chest, his eyes finally leaving the destruction he had caused and settling instead on his hands and the crimson he felt now covered them. He began to rub them over his trouser legs, trying to remove the blood that only he could see, becoming more and more agitated as it refused to be removed and instead seemed to stain his skin all the more. He didn't hear his name being shouted over and over again; didn't hear the struggles of his team as they tried to release themselves, knowing from past experience that their leader would be of no help to them now; didn't see or feel Sophie's soft hands covering his own, steadying them, stopping them from rubbing themselves raw; all he heard was the thunderous sound of the gun, all he saw was rich red rivers of blood, all he felt was it sticking and cloying and coating his skin.

It was the smell that woke him, a sharp tang that sent waves of nausea rolling around his stomach, a smell that haunted him in his dreams. He tried not to breathe through his nose in an effort to lessen its stench, but it just worsened until it seemed to coat his lips, his teeth, and the roof of his mouth, so that every time he tried to remove the dryness he felt there he tasted it and immediately knew where he was. Hospital. He groaned as he tried to remember what had happened to render him here, groaned again as a hand clasped around his arm causing him to jump and irritate an agony he had, up until then, not realized was even there. The agony though gave him the nudge he needed to remember. Ducovich. He tried to open eyes there were heavy with exhaustion; tried to turn his body so that he could see Sophie's face, because he knew without a doubt that she was the one who was trying to offer him comfort; tried to ask the questions he needed to know the answers too. He groaned again as ice chips were pressed gently to his lips, never before had water felt so sweet to him, the little bit of wetness allowing him to voice his words.

"Where's Eliot? Is he okay? Why am I here?" He managed to rasp out, the effort of speaking those few words exhausting him even more.

"Are you kidding me? You almost died Nathan! Where the hell did you think you'd wake up?"

Nathan allowed Sophie to continue ranting, not missing the fact she had glossed over the questions he had asked about Eliot, but knowing he had probably put her through hell these past. . . . . . . . . . . hell how long had he been here? He could feel the uncomfortable pressure of a catheter, so he figured it had been a while. "How long?"

"Three days. They kept you well medicated for the first two. You scared us Nate. You scared me."

"I'm sorry." He replied, taking her hand in his, reversing the comfort offered before adding. "How's Eliot? Where's Eliot?" He watched as the Grifter's eyes clouded as she battled whether to tell him or not. "Please Sophie."

"He's not doing so well. He hardly eats, barely sleeps, and refuses to respond to any of us. He ghosts through the day like some kind of zombie, and we don't know what to do." She halted as Nate struggled to raise himself. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I need to see him." He responded as he forced his body to turn over, gasping out in pain when he aggravated his wound and sent pain shooting throughout the whole of his body. He slumped back down on the pillows, sweat dripping from him, and his breathing harsh as he tried to ride out the agony.

"Nate! Nate! You need to calm down, just breathe through it, it'll get easier." Sophie cried out as she pushed at the call button. She flinched as Nate grasped her hand tightly, her eyes drifting from their entwined limbs up to the Masterminds eyes and the questions she could see their beneath the pain.

"He's not here Nate. We couldn't risk it, they would have locked him away. Parker and Hardison are with him at the loft." She trailed off as the nurse finally responded to her call, but her hand never left his.

Nate sighed in relief as he felt the pain medication begin to work, his limbs relaxing and his eyes battling to stay open as sleep beckoned, but his need to know what happened was stronger, and his stubbornness ran deep. He waited for the nurse to leave before turning to Sophie once more. "What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"I shot Ducovich, after that nothing until I woke here. How did we get away?"

"You passed out. We thought you were dead at first, but Hardison could see your chest rising. Parker remembered who had the keys to the cuffs, she really is amazingly agile that girl. Once she was loose, she helped the Hardison and me. We decided to split, we knew you needed medical help, but we also knew they'd take one look at Eliot and drag him off to the psych ward, so they took him back to the loft, and I took you here. Oh we're married by the way, you're Gavin Hodges and I'm Sylvie, we were in a failed robbery attempt." She saw Nate's eyebrow rise at this information. "Don't worry we've already pulled the con, every things fine, the police believed the story especially when Parker came forward and stated that a man of the same description tried to rob her too. The police have all the details, but they believe the suspect might never be found."

"What about Ducovich and his men?" Nate asked his brain barely able now to keep focus.

"We called in some favors for the guys Eliot killed at the loft, as for Ducovich, he had many enemies, we just let one of them know where he was and allowed them to take credit for his death." She paused as Nate's eyes closed, her free hand brushing a few errant strands from his forehead before adding. "Get some rest Nate; everything is going to be fine." She sat back on her chair as he complied, and prayed that what she had just uttered turned out to be the truth.

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**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . That's all for now folks! Will be back soon with more. Peanut x**


	16. Chapter 16

**A Broken Man.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . How do you break a man, when pain is an everyday occurrence and can be controlled? Eliot and the team are about to find out, when an easy con turns out to be anything but.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine, no money is being made; I'm just testing the waters of a new fandom.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . What can I say, sorry just doesn't seem to be enough, life just kind of took over and writing got pushed to the side; I'm hoping I have things back in order again, and the chapters will return thick and fast. With that being said, I really hope that you enjoy chapter 16. Peanut x**

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"Nate! What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Sophie cried out, her voice a mixture of anger and anguish. "You could have just called; I would have picked you up and brought you back here." She added as she rushed over to where the Mastermind stood swaying in the doorway to his loft, his hands white as he gripped the frame to stop himself from falling over.

"No you wouldn't, you would have tried to stop me, you would have lectured me that it was in my best interests to stay, that I would be better off in the hospital, that I wasn't ready to leave just yet." Nate replied, struggling between each sentence to drag in much needed oxygen.

"Well looking at you now, I would have been bloody right, wouldn't I?" Sophie spat out. She softened her tone as she continued. "Nate it's too soon for you to be leaving, you're still healing, you need to be lying down, you need the expertise of the doctors, one pull on those stitches and you risk ending up straight back in surgery. Is that what you want Nate? Because I can tell you now, I can't go through that again. I can't Nate. I just can't."

"I'm sorry Sophie, but I can't stay there any longer. I want to be here. I have to be here. I need to be here."

"No Nate, you need to be back in that hospital bed."

"Sophie. . . . . . . . . . ."

"Don't Sophie me! Don't you dare Sophie me. I'm taking you straight back there."

"Sophie, please, Eliot needs me here."

"Nate, we can handle this until you're stronger, trust us."

"I do trust you. I trust you on everything, but this is different. Can you honestly say that you, and Parker, and Hardison, can handle this? Can you honestly say that you're coping? Can you honestly say that Eliot's getting better? If so, then prove it! Show me Eliot, and if it looks as though he's getting better I'll return to the hospital." When he received no response from the Grifter he got all the answer he needed. "That's what I thought. How bad is it? Where is he?"

"Nate I beg you, if you don't listen to me on anything else, please listen to me on this. Take a minute to think about yourself before you go to see him. Catch your breath, gather some strength believe me when I say you're going to need to. It's not pretty; it's not pretty at all."

"Okay, okay I'll relax before I see him, but please at least take me to where he is."

"Come on; let me get you to the couch. Did you at least get your meds before you left? Do you need anything?"

"Sophie, stop; where's Eliot? Take me to him please."

"Nate, he's still here. We didn't think you'd mind if we placed him in your room. We couldn't take the risk of taking him to any of his safe houses. We didn't know if they had been compromised, plus you know Eliot, we couldn't take the risk that we had found all of the weapons he hides around his place. We thought this option would be the best. Plus we knew you wouldn't stay in the hospital, that before long you'd make your way back here. Now sit down before you fall down, you're going to have your meds, and you're going to rest a while; and before you start arguing, Eliot's not going anywhere, and I seriously doubt his situation will change within the next few hours." She held up a hand to stop Nate's protest. "Nate don't argue with me, this is not up for debate, two hours. Now lay down."

It was more like five hours before Nate woke up again, a part of him mad at the others for letting him sleep so long, but he couldn't deny he did feel better for it; now though he only had one thought in mind, he needed to see their Hitter. He pushed away at hands that offered to help him stand, using the arm and then the back of the couch to raise himself up, before taking tentative steps towards his spiral staircase. He paused as he reached the bottom, the enormity of the task ahead seeping what strength he had gathered straight back out of him; but he knew he had no choice, knew he had to do this, felt within himself that he was the only one that could turn Eliot back around. Raising a shaky leg, he planted his foot upon the first step, pushing himself to repeat the action over and over again, no matter how much it hurt, until he left the living space downstairs behind him and entered his private quarters; not able to hold back the gasp as he did so.

His room was trashed. His bed had been stripped and overturned, the mattress thrown clear across the large space, the sheets torn off, ripped up, and used to cover up every shiny surface and mirror; the curtains were pulled tightly closed, the only light in the room coming from the overturned lamp with its shattered base, whose bulb was lucky to have survived the onslaught. He didn't see Eliot at first, only the slightest of movements, the softest of noises, honing in his senses to the figure huddled behind his broken bedframe.

"When we first brought him back, he just lay there, we were downstairs when the anger surfaced. Parker and I wanted to rush in there, to calm him down, but Hardison kept a cool head, he kept us out of there. We could only watch; watch as he destroyed everything, repeating over and over that "he didn't like what he saw" when it was all over, this was the result, and Eliot. . . . . . . . . he just. . . . . . . . . . . he just deflated again. He's been like this ever since, refusing to eat, barely drinking, refusing even the slightest offer of help. He can't keep this up. He won't last much longer."

Nate refused to turn Sophie's way as she spoke, he couldn't even if he wanted to his eyes were glued to the form of their Hitter. Eliot sat behind the bedframe, still in the same flannel shirt and jeans he was wearing when he stormed into Ducovich's office. His knees were pulled up to his chest, his chin resting upon them; his bare feet peeking out from beneath the dirty folds; his greasy hair, matted with grime and blood, curtained lankly over his face, hiding almost every feature from sight; every inch of him screaming defeated. As the Mastermind stepped further into the room though, his feet stepping on the warped floorboard he had been meaning to fix, that all changed.

It was little changes, not noticeable to those who did not know him well, but Nate did and he watched and witnessed as Eliot's entire demeanor switched. The body that had been loose and limp, suddenly became tense, taut and alert, coiled tightly and ready to spring at a moment's notice should a signal be sent from his brain that danger once more lurked. He imagined Eliot's eyes beneath that sheath of hair changing, the dull lifelessness leaving the blue orbs, to be replaced by an alertness that had for a very long time kept the Hitter alive.

It should have sent warning bells off within Nate's mind, should have had him running from the room, but all he could feel was a sense of happiness, and all he could do was stepp even closer to the man that could kill him quite easily with one blow. Eliot might be down, might even be broken, but Nate now knew that he was far from defeated, that somewhere deep down the Hitter wanted to fight back, and Nate was going to do everything within his power to help him find that way back.

To be continued. . . . . . . . . . .

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**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . Thanks for taking time out to read this chapter; I can only hope it made up for the long wait I gave you. Thanks also for sticking with me on this. Catch you soon, Peanut x**


	17. Chapter 17

**A Broken Man.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . How do you break a man, when pain is an everyday occurrence and can be controlled? Eliot and the team are about to find out, when an easy con turns out to be anything but.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine, no money is being made; I'm just testing the waters of a new fandom.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . . It seems as though I have an apology in every chapter I write these days, but this one I wish with all my heart I didn't have to write. This chapter had been sitting on my laptop, ready to be fine-tuned and posted, when I got an emergency call from back home stating that my Mum was seriously ill and I needed to return asap; I made it home, but unfortunately my Mum never awoke and passed peacefully a few days later. She always loved reading whatever I wrote and I know she would want me to carry on doing so, so I dedicate this chapter, and all future writings to her, and pray that wherever she's now resting they bring her the enjoyment they did when she was here. Gillian x**

**A.N.2. . . . . . . . Thanks to all who took time out to read the last chapter, and to those who reviewed also. Here's chapter 17, I hope that you enjoy this one also. Peanut x**

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Nate edged closer to where Eliot still sat, as Sophie softly retreated behind him. Once there he righted a chair that had been knocked over, yet survived damage, during the younger man's angry outburst, and eased his aching and weary frame into it; slumping into the soft plush cushions and groaning as his surgical sight protested the punishment he had placed upon it too soon. For hours he sat there, watching the silent Hitter, and knowing he was being watched in return behind that curtain of hair; ignoring Hardison as he came in with food and drink and the meds Nate knew he should really take; instead he carried on silently watching and waiting.

He battled against exhaustion, battled against his bodies need for sleep and rest, not willing to take the chance he would miss Eliot's next move; for he knew deep down that the younger man would move first, he only hoped that it wouldn't be a move made in anger. He felt it was dark outside, felt that maybe a new day was shortly to be upon them when that move finally came, Eliot's head moving slightly before words fell from his lips, words made even raspier than usual from his throats lack of use.

"You just gonna sit there forever?"

"If I have to, and it comes down to it." Nate replied, trying to hide the smile he felt.

"Why?" The Hitter asked, the smile Nate had been feeling faltering at the sense of sadness and hurt and dismay and guilt, that one little word was spoken with and carried.

"Because you once told me you was my friend, and this is what friends do." The joy Nate had felt when Eliot had first spoken evaporated when no further words fell from the man's lips; the Hitter's posture returning once more to how it had been, his head once more falling down to rest upon his knees. Taking a chance Nate spoke up again. "Eliot, you can sleep, you're safe now. I'll watch your back."

"Not safe, never will be."

Nate's heart crushed at the softly spoken words, but was pleased to see the younger man comply with his request, his body relaxing, his breathing evening out. He sat there watching and prayed that his rest would be calm and peaceful, but he knew it was not to be as within the hour Eliot twitched and fidgeted and mumbled before shooting up, his hair parting slightly, his eyes beneath confused and fearful and constantly roaming about the room. "It's alright Eliot, you're safe, you're at the loft, you can relax." Nate cooed out calmly, pleased when his words finally broke through and Eliot calmed once more, but yet again dismayed when the younger man refused to take anymore rest.

For days it continued on like that, the same thing happening over and over again like some freaky groundhog day, the same few words spoken. The only bright side? Nate was glad to see that at least Eliot was eating now, all be it tentatively and nowhere near the amount a man of his stature should eat; each morsel thoroughly examined, and cautiously sniffed, before being deemed safe enough for consuming; water only being drunk from bottles that he checked first to make sure they hadn't been tampered with.

After a day of watching Nate's own health deteriorate, Sophie had finally taken a stand and insisted he at least watch from the bed where he could regain his own strength; his natural stubbornness surfacing, insisting he didn't need too, only softly spoken words from the floor "take the god damn bed Nate" enough to move him from the chair. It was at the beginning of a new week when things finally began to change.

"You just gonna sit there forever?" Eliot spoke the words Nate was now becoming to hate

"If I have to, and it comes down to it." Nate automatically responded, repeating the words he always replied with.

"Why?"

"Because you once told me you was my friend, and this is what friends do." Nate answered his words dull and flat, his mind already set that no further words would be forthcoming; his eyes widening when some did.

"Every time the leather strap struck, my Daddy used to always say I'd account for nothing. I guess he was right after all."

Nate was stunned, he'd suspected what Eliot was now confirming, but to hear the confession coming from the normally private man was unnerving. "He was wrong Eliot." He finally got out. "He was so very wrong. You're a good person. You're a good man."

Eliot snorted out a small laugh before replying. "You don't know the things I've seen, the things I've done."

"Then tell me! Tell me what you think you've done that's so bad."

Eliot opened his mouth as though to reply, sending shivers down the older man's spine in anticipation of what was about to be revealed; but Eliot just closed it once more, turning his head to face away from the Mastermind.

Taking a chance Nate spoke up. "Eliot, after all these years of chasing you, don't you think I know what you're capable off? Don't you think I know what you did in that time in the warehouse? What you did to Moreau's men? What you did this time trying to save Parker and me? What you did to Ducovich's men? I can probably even hazard a guess to what you even did back then in your past."

"No you can't!"

"Then tell me. It's obviously eating away at you, let someone else in to help carry that burden."

"No! Never!"

Nate knew that to push even more would send the man's walls crashing back up, but he knew he had to keep Eliot talking, deciding to approach it from another angle he asked. "Okay, then tell me about her."

Eliot's head shot up at the question, his lank hair falling away for a moment allowing Nate to see the guilt and despair radiating from his eyes. Again he waited, the more time passing, the more he thought that yet again there would be no answer forthcoming from the man; Eliot yet again surprising him though as he softly replied.

"After Amy I swore I'd never fall that hard again, that I'd never let anyone break through the walls I put up. It was easy at first, I'd learnt a long time ago that I preferred to work alone, but then I went to work for Ducovich."

"Why? If you preferred to work alone, why go working for him?"

"He'd heard what I could do, what I would do. Whispers were flying around, whispers about what I had done for Moreau. He heard them and decided to use them against me."

"And you went along with it? Why didn't you run?"

"Don't you think I would have, if I could have? I was good then Nate, but there were others that were better. Ducovich made me into the man y'all know me to be, but to get there . . . . . . . . . . . . well let's just say this isn't the first time I've been through this."

"He mentioned something to that effect."

"I thought she was an angel."

"You thought who was an angel?" Nate asked forgetting for a moment the original topic.

"Marianna. The first time I saw her I thought she was an angel. Afterwards, I thought it was just another trick Ducovich had set up, but she kept coming back. She'd sneak down to me in the middle of the night, clean me up and try and coax food into me. I knew the risks she was taking, pleaded with her to stop, but she refused and as the time went on I began to look forward to her visits. I'd even use her face to get me through the torture Ducovich inflicted. I agreed to work for him because of her."

"Why?"

"I figured if I worked for him, he would stop with the punishments. I figured he would want me stronger, would treat me better. And I knew that was the only way I could get her out of there. So I worked for him, did the atrocities he asked of me, and spent every spare second I had with her."

"What happened to her?"

"It took me a year to finalize the plans using someone I trusted to help me out; but he was more afraid of Ducovich than me. When we disappeared, he sung like a canary. We hadn't even made it to the border when they caught up to us. They made me watch as she was beaten, made me watch as she died. It was his own sister Nate, how could he even do that? Ducovich laughed as he placed the gun in her limp hand and pulled the trigger three times. The last thing I remember is him calling for the authorities, and her battered and broken body upon the floor."

For the second time that day Nate was stunned, he wanted to ask questions, had many of them running through his mind, but the words wouldn't form so instead he just lay there and waited.

"I don't know who got me out of there, but the next time I woke up I was in the back of a van, and my wounds had been taken care of. I tried to ask who had saved me, but the driver refused to talk to me, just kept on driving until he finally stopped at a house on the outskirts of a small city. He helped me out of the van, gave me a key, and left."

"Did you ever find out?"

"Yeah, yeah I did. Ducovich's mother could see what he was becoming, could also see what was happening between me and Marianna, could see how happy here daughter was. When we left, she heard my friend betray me. She worked as fast as she could and arranged to have people in her trust follow us; unfortunately for Marianna, she was not fast enough."

"I'm so sorry Eliot." Nate offered before adding. "He must have been pissed when he heard that you had escaped. Has he been chasing you ever since?"

"Yeah, caught me a few times too, but he never finished it off. I guess he found himself a new game. I guess he liked the thought of me constantly looking over my shoulder."

"What happened afterwards at the safe house?"

"I pretty much lost it. I didn't want to live anymore, but I knew she'd want me too. I'd look in the mirror every day and hate what I saw, so I'd cover them up."

"Is that what you're feeling now?"

"I don't know, everything's confused inside here." Eliot replied, bashing his fist against his head for emphasis. Nate wanted to tell him to stop, the words on the tip of his tongue when the Hitter spoke again. "It's the same every time. He confuses me so much, that I think I'm back in that time that place. I'm not am I?"

"No, no you're not."

"I don't like what I see anymore. I don't like how I feel. I hate the man I am. I used to be able to hide who I was, created these masks so that I could hide behind them, but they've been torn down and now I don't know who I am. Am I a good guy, or am I as bad as I think I am?"

"You're a good man Eliot." Nate replied, trying to reassure the damaged man.

"Am I?" Eliot asked doubts still clearly evident within his words. "I've done some bad things Nate, some really bad things. If you knew what I'd done, I don't think you'd feel the same way."

"Just because you've done some bad things, it doesn't mean you're a bad person." Nate tried again, but again Eliot seemed to ignore him.

"I tried Nate; I tried so hard to make up for what I'd done in the past. Every job I took I researched thoroughly, if it would hurt someone I refused it. If I had to hurt someone, I'd do so that they would always recover; guns were a no no. Every cent I made, I'd give back more than I kept. I tried to atone for what I'd done, but can I ever atone enough? When I came to work with you and the others, I saw it as my chance to do even more good, but my past always seems to put you all in even more danger. I'll never be good enough will I?"

Nate pushed himself to the edge of the bed before moving to sit down beside the Hitter, their shoulders touching. "Eliot, you are good enough, you have to believe me. If you don't believe me then believe Parker, or Hardison, or Sophie, they all think so. Marianna thought so too, she knew exactly the man you were, and yet she still wanted to be with you. You're a good man Eliot." Nate reiterated. "Now you have to start believing so again."

"I don't know if I can. I don't know how to."

"Then let us help you." Nate responded. "Eliot, will you let us help you?" He asked, pleased when after a few minutes Eliot replied with a nod. "Okay then for starters what's say we get you cleaned up, and then you'll eat a proper meal and then rest. In a real bed Eliot, not the floor." He stood up with difficulty and reached down his hand to offer help to the younger man, a smile gracing his lips as that offer was taken.

To Be Continued. . . . . . . . . .

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**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . . I hope you enjoyed Eliot's backstory? Will be back soon with more. Peanut x**


	18. Chapter 18

**A Broken Man.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . How do you break a man, when pain is an everyday occurrence and can be controlled? Eliot and the team are about to find out, when an easy con turns out to be anything but.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Not mine, no money is being made; I'm just testing the waters of a new fandom.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . Thanks to everyone who has read this story, reviewed this story, or added this story to their favorites list; to know that someone out there is reading you work, is the biggest motivation in the world. Peanut x x**

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Epilogue. . . .

It took longer than any of them thought it would; took longer than any of them would have liked. Parker and Hardison had imagined that Eliot, after his first talk with Nate, would bounce back as he always did. Hell even Nate had been cautiously optimistic, only Sophie expressing doubts; doubts that turned out to be true. Eliot had tried, he really had, but too many old wounds had been ripped open, and too many new ones created both mentally and physically, wounds that stubbornly refused to heal.

Each and every day was a test, each and every day they waited patiently to see how he would be; would he be calm and cool and almost back to the Eliot they loved; would he be angry and hurt and filled with a rage they had never before bore witness to; or would he be the one they hated the most, sullen and timid and scared.

They learnt to give him his space, to allow him even more time alone, to patiently wait whilst he sorted out his emotions and place a mask upon his face, a mask they hated and wished they would never see again. Each night they all crept into their own beds, each praying that the new morning would bring with it and old Eliot.

After a month of too much molly coddling, too much mother henning, he had insisted he be allowed to return to one of his safe houses, insisted he knew best how to break through the funk that shrouded him, the others reluctantly relenting only after he told them where the house was, what defenses he had installed, and even then only after he promised to allow one of them in every morning. Although he hated the rules he agreed, the need to try and get back to normal consuming him, and if getting that normalcy back meant losing a tiny shred of privacy then he could live with that.

The rest of the team all had their concerns though, all managed to find themselves at some point or another invading that privacy even more; Parker slinking her way into his air ducts; Hardison installing hidden security camera's; Nate and Sophie, more upfront, just plain knocking on his door insisting they were just in the area, and just happened to have an extra portion of food with them; Eliot at first putting up with it, knowing it was just their way of showing he was not alone anymore, knowing they were just scared too. Eventually though it got too much, eventually he snapped, eventually he stole away, eventually he realized, he needed to be alone, he needed to be completely alone, no camera's, no phone's, no team.

Packing up meager belongings, he fled into the night, Parker finding the note he had left the next morning; a note that pleaded with them to respect his wishes and not to follow him. He insisted he would be safe, insisted he would be back, insisted he would check in every day, twice a day. He told them he had taken a tracking device with him, promised he would keep it on him at all times, but pleaded that they try and not follow him, but allowed him to recover, to heal, the best way he knew how.

They, of course, hated the idea, wanted to follow him, to bring him back; hated the idea that once again he was apart from them and hurting, but in the end they respected his wishes and allowed him his time and space; each of them waiting in anticipation for his check in time to come around. As the days passed that anticipation gradually grew less and less, until their days once more became normal, so that when the time came that Eliot missed a check in, it was a few hours before they remembered.

They panicked once they did remember though, all talking at once, all blaming each other for forgetting until Parker remembered the tracker, and all eyes turned to the big screen as Hardison tried to locate their missing hitter; all eyes opening wide as the screen came to life and the red dot that indicated where Eliot was, was clustered together with their own, and a gravelly voice spoke softly from behind them, "I see something's never change," before it's owner was engulfed.

Later that night found Eliot in the small kitchen with only Nate for company, a tumbler of whiskey before each of them, a serene quiet between them, a quiet that was broken when Nate finally asked the questions they had all been wondering.

"Have you chased away your demons? Are you Eliot again?"

Eliot thought long and hard before answering, drowning most of his glasses contents before replying. "No! I don't think I'll ever lose them. I don't think I have been Eliot for a very long time. But I'm okay with that, I'm becoming happy with who I am again and that's all that matters."

Nate looked as if he was going to ask more, looked as if he needed to ask more, but in the end he chose to instead raise his glass and tilt it towards the younger man, and action that was soon repeated, a small chink of china sounding out.

"To Eliot, to the team, to what the future may bring."

The End.

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**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . Well what can I say? I'm actually sad to see this one finish! I'm sorry it took so long to complete, getting through my first Christmas without my Mum was harder than I thought it was going to be, but I hope it was worth it. Catch you soon, Peanut x x**


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